


Going Yard

by Brenda



Series: The New York Avengers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, First Love, Gen, Hand Jobs, Love Letter To Baseball, M/M, Steve & Bucky Are Both Stubborn Assholes, Steve Rogers Feels, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Going Yard:</b> Baseball vernacular for hitting a home run.</p><p>This is the love story of shortstop Steve Rogers and pitcher Bucky Barnes, estranged childhood best friends about to be reunited on the same team.</p><p>This is a love story about New York's <i>other</i> baseball team, the Avengers, and their quest to claim the National League East division title.</p><p>This is a love story about going home and new friends and team bonding and first loves and how the people you're the closest to can also drive you the craziest.</p><p>But mostly, this is a love story about baseball and the boys of summer who play it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are about a billion graphics and multimedia aspects, from newspaper headlines to tweets to Instagrams to box scores, and there is no way I could have completed this fic the way I envisioned without the extraordinary effort of my amazing artist, Sullacat. She truly went above and beyond in so many ways. The link to her work is here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/2626484>
> 
> All ball players, commentators, and sports personalities who are not with the Avengers are based on real people, and no disrespect is intended.
> 
>    
> 

**(July 16 2013 – American League vs. National League All-Star Game, in Brooklyn, NY, top of the 7th, one out)**

  


  
"Good evening everyone, and welcome to beautiful Brooklyn, New York and to Citi Field, affectionately known as Avengers Tower by the hometown fans, which is playing host to the 84th annual All-Star Game, sponsored by Chevrolet. If you're just now joining us, I'm Joe Buck and to my right is Tim McCarver, and we have been privileged to witness a very competitive ball game so far. Tim, your thoughts?"

"One thing New York's always known how to do is throw a party, and the fine folks in this city have outdone themselves with all of the All-Star activities this week, and I think that's carried on to the play on the field. This has been one of the more entertaining and well-pitched All-Star games I can remember."

"Speaking of great pitching, how incredible was it of National League coach Bruce Bochy to give the starting nod to hometown hero and Avengers pitching ace Bucky Barnes over Dodgers ace Clayton Kershaw?"

"That was a very classy move by Bochy. And Barnes certainly delivered for the fans, with two strong innings of work and four strikeouts. So far the National League has out-pitched the American League and they're leading by a score of 2-1." 

"In fact, Bochy's just made the Verizon call to the bullpen to bring out Phillies' closer, Jonathan Papelbon, with two men on and one out in the top of the 7th inning. And Bochy must have a sense of humor, because Papelbon will be facing Boston Red Sox shortstop, Steve Rogers."

"As most of you may remember, Papelbon and Rogers played together in Boston for five seasons, from Rogers' rookie year in 2007 until 2011, when Papelbon left as a free agent and signed with Philadelphia." 

"Right you are, Tim. Papelbon finishes his warmup tosses, and steps up to the rubber. And listen to this crowd going absolutely nuts as soon as Rogers' name is announced. They've been cheering for him just like this all night long."

"Well, this _is_ a homecoming of sorts for Steve, because it's the first time he's ever played here at Avengers Tower. As we all know, he grew up right down the street, and he and childhood friend Bucky Barnes both dreamed of playing in this stadium and for the New York Avengers. And while Barnes realized that dream and has been the ace of the Avengers pitching staff for the last six years, Steve was drafted by the Red Sox right out of high school and has made his home in Boston ever since. But he'll always be a Brooklynite to the folks here."

"That he will. He tips his hat to the crowd, and then takes ball one _way_ inside on a 98-mile an hour fastball."

"I think Papelbon's got the right idea to keep the ball up and in on Rogers, but he needs to choose his spots carefully. Especially with Rogers' batting left-handed."

"Papelbon's sinker hits the inside corner at the knees for strike one. 1-and-1 the count on Steve Rogers, who earned the nickname Captain America back when he was playing Little League ball with Barnes."

"In fact, it was Barnes who gave him that nickname and it's stuck with him ever since, all the way up to the majors."

"Papelbon's next pitch is a cutter that gets too much of the plate and Rogers just _drills_ it into deep left center, and that one isn't coming down. My _goodness_. It goes over the wall and out of the stadium for a three-run home run and the American League has taken the lead, 4-2."

"I think that one hit the river, Joe."

"I think that one sailed _over_ the river and into Manhattan. Rogers just _crushed_ it. And even though this is a National League park and the crowd is obviously rooting for them to win the game and get home field advantage in the World Series, Rogers gets a standing ovation as he rounds the bases."

"That pitch looks like it didn't come in all the way and Rogers capitalized on the mistake. And with his team in the lead over in the cutthroat AL East, having home field advantage in the World Series could prove to be a very big deal."

***

***

Adam Jones, star center fielder for the Baltimore Orioles, pops the world's biggest bubble and leans against the wall of his locker. "So, if you don't need that sweet-ass car you just won for getting MVP, you could always hook a brother up."

Steve chuckles as he shrugs into his shirt and starts to button it. If he never has to talk to another reporter again, he'll be the happiest man in all of baseball. Feels like he's done nothing for the last hour but analyze that same pitch from Paps over and over and over again. He doesn't know how many different ways to say that he was just trying to keep the ball fair and give Pedy and Torii a chance to move up the base paths. "I'll keep that in mind for Christmas."

Adam just grins, and slaps him on the back. "You sticking around the city for some nostalgic sight-seeing or are you high-tailing it to get in a little bit of R&R for the next couple of days?"

"Well, I kinda thought I'd go home and sleep in my own bed for a change."

"You still live in New York?"

"I never left." Steve bends to tie his shoelaces. "I mean, yeah, I've got a place in Boston for during the season, but this is home. Always will be."

"You can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can't take the stupid loyalty out of him."

Steve's head shoots up, meets Bucky Barnes' lively blue eyes and amused smirk. "You kept all the stupid with you here in New York, remember," he says, with his own wide grin. 

Bucky's a sight for sore eyes – his dark hair's still on the long side and he's still got the tall, lanky frame of a pitcher, but he's finally grown into that too-pretty face. Everything in Steve clenches at the sight of him.

Bucky nods towards the door. "C'mon, let's blow this joint, head down to the old neighborhood and get properly plowed." 

"I'll leave you guys to it," Adam says, waving his goodbyes as he heads out. 

Bucky steps fully inside and takes a slow look around the room. "You know, I don't think I've ever actually _been_ in our visiting clubhouse before. It's kinda small."

"Can't make the other team feel too comfortable," Steve says, and stands. He's not exactly sure of the etiquette here. Yeah, he and Buck used to be tight (understatement of the century, he thinks), but that was years ago and they haven't even _seen_ each other in four years, when the Avengers played an inter-league series in Boston. And even then, it had just been a quick, 'hey how are you man, how's the family, good to see you' exchange during warm-ups. Bucky hadn't even pitched that series.

Bucky makes the decision for him by stepping in for a one-armed bro-hug, the embrace quick, but Steve can feel the warmth of it straight down to his toes. Bucky smells like leather and bubblegum. Like Brooklyn on a summer afternoon.

"So, you ready to head out?" Bucky asks.

"Uh, yeah." Steve pats his pockets, makes sure he has his keys and wallet and phone and follows Bucky out of the room and into the catacombs of the stadium. "You looked really good out there, by the way. Seemed like you had all your pitches working."

"Thanks." Bucky smiles, showing off the laugh lines around his mouth that Steve used to know by heart. "Shame we lost, but it's still fun, y'know, pitching in the All-Star Game in front of the home crowd. Had to give 'em something fun to watch."

"Well, your sinker was extra filthy tonight, so mission accomplished. Glad I didn't have to bat against you." Christ, could they sound any more awkward? Steve vividly remembers the time when there hadn't been enough hours in the day for all the things they had to say to each other. "I'm guessing your family showed up."

"All eight billion of 'em." Bucky shrugs, but he's still smiling, so Steve'll take it. He'd always loved the Barnes family – they'd always seemed so boisterous and larger than life, especially compared to Steve's own small family of two. Yeah, he knows his mom loved him and had done the best she could, but he still kinda wishes she'd remarried after his dad died, maybe had another kid or two. He thinks he would have liked being an older brother.

And if he has a pang or two sometimes that he hasn't been able to call the Barnes clan his family for the last nine years, well, it's his own fault, and a penance he'll bear in silence.

"Well, tell 'em all I said hi, alright," he says, following Bucky through a side exit and out into the street. He's vaguely surprised that there are no cameras or reporters around, no fans clamoring for autographs.

"No one really knows about this door," Bucky explains, seemingly reading Steve's mind. "It's nice on the days when I don't feel like driving up to the park. I can come and go without anyone knowing."

"You still live around here?"

"Manhattan," Bucky replies, "but Mom and Pop and Gran all still live in the old neighborhood. Sometimes I park at their place and walk to the stadium, if it's nice out."

"Sounds nice." They bump shoulders companionably as they head down the sidewalk and it _is_ nice, Steve thinks. A little more like how they used to be before Bucky's senior year of high school, when everything between them had changed. 

Before Steve had fucked everything up. 

He knows what happened to sour their friendship is his fault. Just like he knows that his life would have been so much different if he hadn't been such a teenage idiot and hadn't – well, it's not worth dredging up again. Water under the bridge. The past is the past and it's best to keep it there.

"Yeah, you know how it is," Bucky says, drawling the words out, and still ( _always_ ), something about the deep rasp of Bucky's voice gets to him. "You, uh, in the mood to go any place in particular? Jack's is still here and so is Pedro's, but the old Navy Yard Cocktail Lounge closed about a year back."

Steve forces himself to concentrate on the conversation. "Shame, man, didn't we buy our first drinks there?"

"Yeah, yeah, I was, what – sixteen? seventeen? – and thought we were hot shit with our fake IDs." Bucky laughs. "I remember you looked like you were gonna pass out when you had to show yours. Thought for sure you were gonna get us busted."

"I never had the knack for bullshitting that you did." Steve also remembers the Cocktail Lounge for a very different reason, but that's probably a memory better left buried deep. "But, hey, Pedro's is fine, if you wanted."

Bucky gives him a long look he can't quite decipher, hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes, then claps him on the shoulder. "Yeah, alright, Pedro's it is. If we're lucky, we won't have to buy drinks all night, either. I gotta get something out of being with the All-Star MVP, right?"

"You're the one that that got drafted by the home team," Steve reminds him. His skin tingles where Bucky's touching him. "I'm the one that committed the terrible sin of getting drafted by the Red Sox."

"Yeah, maybe, but you're still one of us at the end of the day. You'll always be a New Yorker," Bucky assures him, and squeezes his shoulder again.

***

  
**(Two Hours Later)**

  
Everything is a little fuzzy around the edges, and that's just fine with Steve. He's lost count of the number of shots he and Bucky have been bought and the number of well wishes and pats on the back he's gotten. If anything, Bucky had _under_ estimated the fans and their reaction to seeing two of their own out and about. Steve's been trying to maintain his buzz by sipping water between shots and drinks, but he can definitely tell he's well on his way to drunk. And, unless he's very much mistaken, Bucky's right there with him.

"Gonna hit the head," he tells Bucky, leaning in to make himself heard over the loud din of the bar. Bucky just gives him a thumbs up and goes back to his conversation with the stacked Hispanic chick on his other side. If Buck doesn't wind up either in her bed or at the very least with her number, Steve'll be shocked. 

Just like old times, he thinks, as he makes his mostly steady way down the hallway to the bathrooms. Bucky'd been born with the ability to charm just about everyone. Although Steve vaguely remembers hearing something about Bucky breaking up with his long-time girlfriend, Gretchen-something-or-another, earlier in the year. But he can't remember much about the details. Unlike a lot of his teammates, Steve's not a big one for gossip.

He accepts another congratulations from the guy in the urinal next to him (he will never ever ever get used to fans coming up to him while he's taking a leak), and is washing his hands when Bucky comes banging in just as the other guy goes walking out.

"Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!!" he cries happily, like it's been years instead of mere minutes since they've seen each other.

"You're drunk," Steve affectionately replies, and finishes drying his hands.

"Not really." Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets as he steps up next to Steve. "But you gotta admit, your name is a fun one to say."

"If you say so."

Bucky gives him another one of those odd, searching looks, then nods. "I do," he says, then steps forward, crowding Steve's space.

Steve's heart stutters. He curls his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and making a grab. He's not gonna make the same mistakes or the same assumptions again. High school was a long time ago, and he's moved on.

"Hey, you mentioned you still live nearby, right?" Bucky asks, close enough that Steve can smell the hops and whiskey on his breath. 

Steve nods, tries to find his voice. "Yeah, um, Brooklyn Heights. Why?"

Bucky leans in even closer, lips touching the shell of Steve' ear. "Because I've been dying to get my mouth on your cock all night long and if you don't take me home right now, we're doing this here." 

Then he leans back and grins at Steve all triumphant like he's just pitched a shutout to clinch a playoff berth.

Every bit of air in Steve's lungs leaves his body in one long whoosh. " _Buck_?" It's barely a whisper.

"C'mon, Steve, you had to know why I invited you out tonight." Bucky drops his hand, cups Steve's rapidly hardening cock with his fingers and lightly squeezes. "So, are we doing this here or...?"

"You're _such_ a fucking asshole," Steve replies, and starts shoving Bucky towards the door.

***

**(July 17 2013 – no MLB games scheduled)**

  
Muted sunbeams dapple in from through the crack in the curtains, and Bucky spends a long time studying the way Steve's skin seems to glow in the hazy light. Steve looks like a slumbering god, all golden and blond and impossibly, beautifully perfect, every solid, athletic inch of him. It's still funny, in a way, to think of him as this Adonis. Steve had been a goddamn runt as a kid, short and skinny and scrappy as hell, but he'd started filling out and shooting up once he'd turned 15 and hadn't really stopped. 

And Steve had put every inch of that amazing body to good use in wringing Bucky out the night before. He's still pleasantly sore, seldom-used muscles twinging, and he can see several scratch marks on his hips and arms. He knows he'll see matching bite marks and scratches along his shoulders and back when he looks in the mirror.

Everything about last night is etched in stone in his brain, every moan, every sigh, every kiss. Steve's hands, his mouth, his cock, everything about him as perfect as Bucky'd remembered. Maybe even more so. They'd slotted together like no time at all had passed since high school, like the previous nine years had been a mere blip on the radar.

Bucky wants nothing more than to spoon behind Steve, to take his cock in hand and wake him with a lazy handjob, followed by a bout of lazier sex, then spend the day in bed repeating everything they'd done to each other the night before. He wants nothing more than to take his time opening Steve up, to slide inside him all slow, to see if Steve's ass is still as tight as Bucky's memories. He has nowhere to be until Friday afternoon when he needs to be at the ballpark, and it would be so easy to give in to the clawing temptation again, to give in to the need that's never quite gone away over the years, no matter how hard Bucky's tried.

Instead, he gives one last longing look to the man sleeping beside him and crawls out of the bed, dresses in silence, and leaves the condo without looking back. This isn't high school anymore, and they aren't horny experimental teens and there are real world consequences to this sort of indulgence, consequences that Bucky knows would destroy him and everything he's worked so hard to build. He won't go down that path again. He's not going to lose himself.

Last night had been great, a real blast from the past and a last hurrah for old-time's sake, but that's it. That's all Bucky will ever let it be. He'd taken his opportunity to get Steve out of his system, to finally purge that itch for once and for all, and now he can move on with his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Player:** James Buchanan Barnes - 17|P  
 **Born:** 03/10/1986  
 **Birthplace:** Brooklyn, NY  
 **Height:** 6' 1" **Weight:** 195  
 **Bats:** Left  
 **Throws:** Left  
 **College:** N/A  
 **MLB Debut:** 06/16/2007

  
 **(July 28 2014 – Three days before the Trade Deadline)**

  
"Good evening everybody, I'm Greg Amsinger, and welcome to MLB Tonight. I'm joined by Harold Reynolds and Dan Plesac, and we're here to bring you all of the action on this Monday evening.

"We'll begin with the biggest story of the night, and possibly of the season. With the July 31st trade deadline looming just around the corner, the Boston Red Sox are continuing their fire sale as they look to regroup with an eye towards getting back in contention next year. And after yesterday's deal that sent Jon Lester and Jonny Gomes to the Oakland A's for Yoenis Cespedes and a 2015 compensation draft pick, they just traded their Gold-Glove shortstop and 2013 ALCS MVP Steve Rogers to the New York Avengers for Daniel Murphy, Lucas Duda, minor league pitching prospect Rafael Montero, and minor league outfielder Cesar Puello. 

"Let me repeat that. Captain America is going to the _Avengers_ , not the Yankees, as some in the media have been speculating.

"Now some of you may remember the benches-clearing brawl last month in the Avengers/Red Sox series during inter-league play when Rogers charged the mound against Avengers' pitcher Bucky Barnes after Barnes threw at Rogers' head. Both players were, of course, fined and suspended five games each. Harold, what's the story here? What's Avengers General Manager Chester Phillips thinking? That's a lot of talent to give up for one player, especially one that might not gel with your staff ace."

"Well, Greg, I think he's thinking that Rogers is hitting .340 with 32 home runs and 84 RBIs already and we're still in _July_ , folks. Those are MVP numbers in any season in any era. And his stellar defense will anchor that infield and save a bunch of runs. I think Phillips is also thinking that the Braves and Nationals are only ahead by a slender two game margin in the tightly bunched up race over there in the NL East, and the Avengers could use a switch hitter who can get things going for this sagging offense now that David Wright is out for the year with that knee injury."

"And the Barnes situation?"

"Well, I think you gotta trust skipper Nick Fury to sit them down and keep a handle on the team. He's been around a long time, this is his seventh year with the Avengers, and obviously Phillips and Avengers owner Natasha Romanoff trust him to keep a lid on any outbursts. And remember, Barnes and Rogers grew up together in Brooklyn. They were best friends, played Little League and high school ball together, so they may have had some personal beef with each other that we know nothing about."

"And something to remember, Harold. Neither one of them have commented publicly about the incident last month aside from Rogers tweeting an apology for his behavior to the Red Sox faithful. Barnes never even acknowledged it, even on social media. So no one knows why it happened."

"Exactly, Dan, thank you. Maybe that fight was the end of it and they patched things up over a beer, who knows. Plus, you gotta remember, Avengers catcher Sam Wilson has known both Barnes and Rogers a long time, so he may be called upon to be the peacemaker if tempers flare."

"Well, all of us here at MLB Tonight wish him – and the Avengers – the best of luck with this one."

***

**(July 28 2014 – Toronto Blue Jays vs. Boston Red Sox, in Boston, top of the 6th, none out)**

  
Steve's first clue that something big's just gone down is with none out and two on in the top of the sixth, and David Ross calls a time out and strides to the mound to talk to Clay Buchholz. Normally, he wouldn't think too much of it – David and Clay've been having communication issues the entire game, which has already resulted in a lopsided score, and the potential for a disastrous inning if they can't get their shit together. But then manager John Farrell comes striding out of the dugout and confers with home plate ump Andy Fletcher and motions Steve's way.

But even then, it doesn't really dawn on him what's happening until he gets to the mound and hears the chants and shouts of "CAP! CAP! CAP!" and the echo of thunderous clapping starts to shake the stadium. And when he sees the solemn, resigned look on Farrell's face, it begins to sink in.

This is it, then. The rumors he and his agent had heard swirling around are true. 

He's just been traded. His tenure as shortstop for the Boston Red Sox – complete with two trips to the World Series (and two rings to show for it), one crazy epic September collapse, and one very interesting year under Bobby Valentine – has come to an end.

"I guess I don't need to ask what's going on," he says, when he gets to the mound. "Should I ask where I'm going?"

John claps him on the butt. "Congrats, Cap, you're going home."

"Home?" Steve repeats, confused. What the hell did that mean? "Wait, you mean –?" John could be talking about the Yankees. Which would be odd, but he could handle it.

But he knows, somewhere deep inside, that he's not going to the Bronx.

"The Avengers need a bat and they just gave up a ton to get you," John says, confirming Steve's suspicions.

"Holy fuck." He forces the words out of a constricted throat.

Home. New York. The Avengers. _Bucky._

Just when he'd thought his life couldn't get any weirder.

"Okay, wow, did not see that one coming," David says, looking impressed.

"Gonna miss you, man," Clay says, misty-eyed. Steve and Clay had come up together in the minors and had both made their debuts for the Red Sox in 2007.

"Well, uh...me too, man." He shrugs, steps into Clay's one-armed hug, then Rossy's, and when Dustin and Mike come walking up to the mound offer their own hugs (Dustin, especially, looks like he's trying not to lose it), it's all Steve can do to keep from tearing up himself. He's gonna miss these guys.

He tips his cap to acknowledge the crowd, still chanting and shouting his name, and takes a last look at Fenway. Soaks in every memory of every at bat and every play he's ever made within this venerable cathedral of a ballpark, and steps into the dugout and into Big Papi's bear hug, ready to say his goodbyes and leave Boston behind.

He very emphatically does not think about his new team or teammates. 

***

***

  


"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me." 

Bucky follows Fury into his office, each word punctuated by a loud smack of gum. He's so mad he's vibrating with it, and looking for something or someone to punch. "What the fuck is the homeboy upstairs thinking?"

"The _homeboy_ upstairs is Mister Phillips or Colonel Phillips to you, and sit your ass down before I tie you down." Fury flops behind his desk, ancient chair squeaking as he leans forward. Once upon a time, Nick had been the most feared hitter in the Majors, and his body is still in the same whipcord fighting shape it had been when he was a player. When he looks at Bucky, his gaze is church solemn and about as deep as the Pacific. 

Bucky takes a seat. His cleats still have bits of mud and grass in them, and his uniform reeks of sweat. Eight shut-out innings of work and this is his fucking reward? "Alright, I'm sitting."

"Keep it up and watch how fast I send you to the bullpen." Fury jabs a finger on the desk, but keeps his eyes on Bucky. "Now, I really don't care about your history with Rogers, and I don't give a good goddamn if the two of you hate each other or if he stole your girlfriend when you were in high school or wrecked your car or screwed your sister. What I _do_ care about is finally winning a division title from the fucking Braves and Nationals, and if Steve Rogers can be our missing piece, then you will learn to get along with him if I have to throw you both in a small room and lock the door until you fight it out. Are we clear?"

Bucky waits a beat – just long enough that he and Fury both understand his feelings on the matter. "Crystal. _Sir_ ," he adds, just for good measure.

"Good." Fury picks up his pen, and glances down at the papers littering his desk. "Now get the fuck out of my office and hit the showers."

Summarily dismissed like a goddamn peon. But then, it's not like Bucky had expected anything else. Fury's still got a team to run, and Bucky's only one part of it (albeit, the most consistent part, pitching-wise, which isn't bragging, it's just fact). 

Thank God Fury doesn't know just how complicated his past with Steve really is. Thank God no one knows about his senior year of high school or about prom night, and thank God no one knows about his momentary lapse of sanity and common fucking sense at last year's All-Star Game.

Bucky's entire body aches when he stands, and heads for the door. The sudden loss of adrenaline's left him shaky, out of focus. He decides to blame it on the nail-biter of an 8th inning, and not Fury's bombshell news about Steve coming to the team. Yeah, it's a cop-out, but it might be the only way he keeps it together.

His hand is on the doorknob before Fury speaks up again. "Oh, and Buck?"

"Yeah?" Bucky tilts his head enough to see Fury's familiar smirk.

"Threw a helluva game today."

Bucky doesn't return the smile. "Yeah. I know."

***

 **Player:** Samuel Thomas Wilson - 15|C  
 **Born:** 07/19/1984  
 **Birthplace:** Rio de Janeiro, Brazil  
 **Height:** 6'3" **Weight:** 220  
 **Bats:** Right  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** N/A  
 **MLB Debut:** 09/02/2008

  
Sam's already waiting for Bucky when he finally makes his way out of the stadium and onto the player's lot. Bucky's car – a fully restored 1970 Plymouth Hemicuda, bought during the off-season when he'd extended his contract with the Avengers (and he'd done most of the restoration work on it himself, thank you very much) – is the only one left in the player's parking lot. Sam's leaning his long, rangy frame against the hood, Brooklyn Nets ball cap shoved low on his head, and his customary wide grin firmly in place. His jeans are threadbare, worn at the knees and pockets, his t-shirt is a faded shade of red that contrasts with the rich dark brown of his skin, and he has cracked Birkenstocks on his feet. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a week. 

Bucky hopes like hell that they're not accosted by any fans when they leave or that Sam's not expecting them to head out anywhere anyone'll see them for a late night meal. He always catches shit in the New York press for Sam's personal appearance, like the two of them being neighbors and the closest thing Bucky has to a best friend these days means he has any measure of control over Sam. 

Like _anyone_ at all has control over Sam. Well, except Riley, but given that Sam's brother lives in Texas, he doesn't have much sway over Sam's day to day life.

Bucky smoothes the buttons of his dress shirt (because he, at least, knows how to dress off the field like an adult), and gives Sam a pointed glare. Sam, of course, ignores it. "Get the fuck off my paint, Wilson."

"Fuck off, that's what you get for taking eight million years in the shower." When Bucky opens the trunk, they both toss in their gym bags. "What the hell took you so long? I'm starving."

"Well, unlike you, I actually stuck around to talk to the media tonight. And Fury wanted a meeting."

Sam leans against the back bumper, arms crossed, like he'll be content to kick back all night long if that's what it takes. "About?"

Figures the dumbass hadn't heard the news yet. Figures Bucky would have to be the one to tell him. "Rogers."

"Who?"

" _Steve_." 

"Cap?" Sam's brows wrinkle. "What about him?"

"He got traded, numbnuts, that's what about him." Just saying it out loud makes it real in a way that nothing else has up to this point. The urge to throw something is back in spades. Luckily, he doesn't carry a baseball around with him, unlike a lot of other players he knows.

"Wait, he got…oh. Oh, man, do not tell me..." Sam pushes his hat up on his head. His dark eyes are as round as saucers. "Are you serious? He's coming here? _We_ got Captain America?"

"Probably on a plane from Boston as we speak," Bucky confirms, shoving his hands in his front pockets and rocking back on his heels. "He'll be here in time to suit up for tomorrow night's game."

" _Fuuuuuuuck_ me."

"Yeah." What else is there to say? His worst fear has just come true, and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it. 

"Well, I'll be damned. I didn't think the Colonel or Romanoff had that particular trick up their sleeves," Sam muses, with a grin. "And I know you don't like the dude or whatever nowadays, but you gotta admit, it'll be real nice to have that bat in the lineup and that glove on the infield."

"I know it will." He does, too. Steve's exceptional skill-set as a ball player has always been the one thing Bucky's allowed himself to remember and appreciate about their days playing ball together. Guys like him don't come around every day, especially during a play-off push where every win counts. Which is part of the problem. "C'mon, let's go back to my place and get plowed."

"You can, maybe, but I actually have to play tomorrow night. Some of us don't have the luxury of only suiting up once every five days."

"Whatever, you can watch me get drunk, then. Because I plan to."

Maybe he'll get drunk enough to forget that he's going to have to live with Steve fucking Rogers all up in his personal space, playing on _his_ team, for at least the rest of the season, and who knows how long after that. Because no way Romanoff would have given up so many players for Rogers if she hadn't been planning on doing everything in her power to lock him up with a lucrative deal to keep him in Brooklyn for a very long time. 

Fuck his fucking life.

***

***

 **Player:** Steven Grant Rogers - 7|SS  
 **Born:** 07/04/1987  
 **Birthplace:** Brooklyn, NY  
 **Height:** 6'2" **Weight:** 210  
 **Bats:** Switch  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** N/A  
 **MLB Debut:** 04/01/2007

  


  


***

"Well, well, if it isn't the ace of the Howlin' Commandos himself."

At the sound of the very familiar – and _very_ unwelcome – voice behind him, Bucky's hackles raise. His vision blurs, his blood boils, his skin prickles, and he has to physically restrain himself from digging his nails into his fists. Even as pissed as he is, he knows better than to damage his pitching hand. Rogers isn't worth it. 

"Welcome back to New York, Steve," he says instead, striving to make his voice as neutral as possible.

Figures the fucking clubhouse would be empty except for the two of them.

A gym bag drops next to Bucky on the bench, and Steve drops down right after it, straddling wood like he owns the joint. In a way, Bucky doesn't blame him for the thought. After all, Steve had been one of the hottest commodities on the trade market, and there's no denying the talent and drive he'll bring to the club. And God knows the media and the fans are already in a tizzy about their hometown boys playing for the same team and being smack in the middle of the pennant race. Even Bucky's own family had been texting their congratulations since last night, like they've all just conveniently forgotten he and Steve aren't best friends anymore and haven't even really talked to each other since Bucky'd graduated high school. 

(He's not thinking about last year. Aforementioned momentary lapses of sanity and common sense don't count as talking.)

The larger part of Bucky, however, just wants to wipe that fucking look off of Steve's too-pretty face. Preferably with his fist.

"Fury thought it'd be a good idea to give me the locker next to yours," Steve says, glancing around the room, then at Bucky, his bluer than blue eyes deceptively guileless. "He figured that ought to keep us away from each other's throats."

"Don't worry, your throat's safe." Bucky resumes tying the shoelaces on his cleats. If he doesn't look up, maybe Steve'll disappear. Or maybe he'll wake up to find this was all some bizarre dream brought on by too many protein shakes or that weird kale snack shit Bruce is always trying to foist on him.

"Is this gonna be a problem?"

So much for not looking. So much for this being a dream. 

Bucky's head snaps up, temper flaring again. Steve's still sitting there, looking all serious. His short wheat-blond hair is carefully brushed away from a high forehead, and he's already dressed in the Avengers blue-on-black home uniform. Bucky would be willing to bet a large sum of money that Steve's signature #7 is on the back of his jersey, and that, even if the damn number had been retired, the organization would have _un_ retired it just to give it to Steve. 

"Is what going to be a problem?" he grinds out, jaw muscle twitching. 

"This." Steve's thighs flex as he moves closer, invades Bucky's space like he still has a right. Bucky can smell aftershave mixed with talcum powder and wood and leather. Steve smells like baseball, like summer, like his childhood and every damn good thing in the universe. Bucky fights the instinctive urge to back out of reach. 

No fucking way he's giving in.

"There is no _this_ , alright," he answers, meeting Steve's gaze without flinching. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve's fingers toying with the Velcro strap of his batting gloves.

"And what happened last year?"

For a timeless second, all Bucky can feel is the bruising imprint of Steve's fingers on his ass, the heat of Steve's breath in his ear, the press of warm lips on pebbled skin. "Pretend last year happened in Vegas and let it stay there."

Steve looks like he wants to argue the point, but thank fucking God, Bruce and Tony waltz into the room. "Captain fucking America, welcome to the Avengers. I gotta give you a hug, man," Stark exclaims, and heads over their way. 

Steve shoots Bucky a quick look, then stands, accepting the back-thumping hug with a laugh, like he's a long-lost brother returning where he belongs. (Which, in all the ways that matter, he is, and Bucky knows it.) "Thanks, man, it's good to be here."

Banner's grin of welcome is just as wide. "I see you and Bucky are already catching up."

Steve spares Bucky a quick, telling glance. "Yeah, that's right. We were catching up," he says, as Clint and Thor and Rhodey file in and make a beeline their way.

"I'll let Tony introduce you to everyone," Bucky says, and bails as fast as he can towards the video room. Bullet dodged, he thinks, even though he knows it's just a temporary reprieve. He'll take what he can get.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**(July 29 2014 – Philadelphia Phillies vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, end of the 1st)**

  


***

"Are you kidding me right now?" Steve asks, when home plate umpire Jordan Baker rings him up for strike three to end the inning. "It was at least six inches outside."

"You really wanna do this, son?" Baker asks, clearly a warning.

"No, but I expect you to give that pitch to Dugan," he snaps, and stomps to the dugout to exchange his batting helmet for his ball cap and glove. Fucking umps, man, there's no way the ball had tailed back in to catch the plate. 

Way to make a great first impression on his new club, striking out looking to end the inning. 

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to piss off the umps this early in the game," Bucky comments from the bench.

Steve idly gives him the finger and yanks off his helmet. "If I wanted your fucking opinion, Buck, I'd fucking ask for it."

"Woah, hey, let's all be friends here, alright," Sam says, strapping into his chest protector.

"Whatever," Steve replies, and swipes his glove from his cubbyhole. Bucky's made it more than clear he wants nothing to do with Steve, so he's just doing his best to be accommodating.

"Hey, I'm just saying maybe you could play nice since you're the new kid on the block and all. This isn't the American League," Bucky says. "We're actually polite out here on the senior circuit."

"Fuck you and the patronizing horse you rode in on." Steve stops in front of Bucky, anger pulsing through him in hard, pounding waves. 

Bucky stands and juts his chin out, crowding Steve's space. "Or what?" 

"Or I'll fucking make you," Steve replies, and throws his shoulder into Bucky's to shove him the fuck out of the way so he can take the field.

The punch catches him by surprise, pain exploding along his cheekbone, and he reacts on instinct, fist already raised to retaliate, when strong arms pin him in place.

"Grab your glove and get on the field," Thor says, his voice rumbling through the air like thunder.

Steve tries without success to shake Thor off. It's like trying to move a mountain. He sees Sam shove Bucky back onto the bench, but can't make out the words through the roaring in his own ears. Bucky looks as murderous as Steve feels.

" _Now_ ," Thor commands.

"Yeah, okay. _Okay_." Steve grabs his glove and cap from the ground. The left side of his face already feels like it's on fire.

Helluva way to start his first game with his new team.

***

"Hello everybody, Greg Amsinger here with Dan Plesac and John Smoltz, and welcome to MLB Tonight. We begin tonight's edition in New York, where the Phillies are looking to continue their hot offensive streak against their division rivals, the floundering New York Avengers. How'd Tim Dugan fare against some of the league's biggest boppers? Smoltzie, I'll let you have this one."

"Thanks, Greg. I gotta say, it wasn't pretty. In what has to be Dugan's worst outing of the season, he gave up seven - that's right, seven – earned runs in 2 2/3rd innings, throwing only 24 of his 75 pitches for strikes. Ouch. The Phillies batted around the order in the 2nd, with Jimmy Rollins and Ben Revere hitting back to back home runs for the fourth time in their careers. The Avengers bullpen tried to contain the damage, but, by the time it was all said and done, Phillies 11, Avengers 3. Kyle Kendrick, staked to that comfortable lead, retired his last thirteen batters in order. Dan?"

"On the other side of the coin, how did Captain America fare in his first game in an Avengers uniform? Well, aside from his three-run shot that provided the only Avengers offense of the night, he also got involved in a first inning dugout scuffle with one of his _own_ pitchers. That's right, folks, just as we predicted, tempers between Rogers and Barnes have already started to spill over and it hasn't even been a full day yet."

"I'm sorry, I thought you said two members of the same _team_ were exchanging punches."

"That I did, Greg. The Avengers clubhouse might be subdued after their decisive loss to the Phillies, but it's still buzzing after a bizarre incident involving newly acquired shortstop Steve Rogers and staff ace Bucky Barnes. Just after the first inning, with the Avengers already down three runs, Barnes and Rogers apparently exchanged a few choice words in the dugout, then a few _punches_ , before being broken apart by catcher Sam Wilson and right fielder Thor Odinson. They both refused to talk to the press after, and all Fury had to say about the incident was that it had been, and I quote, 'dealt with'." 

"This can't be what owner Natasha Romanoff was expecting when she and Phillips were looking to get Steve in an Avengers' uniform."

"No, I'm sure it wasn't. We'll see what happens at the game tomorrow, after tempers have cooled."

***

  
Fury barely waits for Steve and Bucky to follow him into the steam room before slamming the door shut and jabbing his cap at them. Steve and Bucky are both still in their uniforms, Steve's sweaty and dirty from trying to claw back into a game that had been all but lost by the third inning. "Mind telling me what the fuck that was about in the first?"

Steve stubbornly looks at the wall and stays silent. Nothing to say, far as he's concerned. Stupid to lose his temper like that. Stupid to let Bucky get to him. But then, he's done a lot of stupid things where Bucky Barnes is concerned. Story of his childhood, really.

He should be better than this. His mother would be ashamed of him if she was still alive.

Bucky shrugs, and stuffs his hat in his back pocket, like pissing Fury off is something he does every day. Hell, for all Steve knows, he probably does. "Nothin', man," Bucky says, through clenched teeth. "It was nothing."

"Nothing?" Fury scoffs, low-pitched, the sound angrily reverberating through the room. "Nothing, huh? Well, your little bit of _nothing_ was live on ESPN and is the number one trending topic on Twitter." He flicks a finger in the direction of the purple and black bruise forming on Steve's cheek. "Do I need to sit you both down for a few games to cool off?"

"It won't happen again," Bucky says, back ramrod straight.

"Goddamn right it won't. Or I'll bench you both so fast it'll feel like one of Monty's fastballs hit you." Fury shakes his head in disgust. "Get the fuck out and hit the showers. And have Coulson look at that bruise, Steve. Wouldn't do to have it swelling before tomorrow's game."

Both nod – what else can they do? – and exit the room. The hallway's deserted, but Steve knows that everyone'll be talking about tonight for quite some time. The New York press, in particular, is going to have a field day. He's already cringing just thinking about it.

"I hope you're not expecting an apology," Bucky states, defiant and serious, and Steve lets out an ironic laugh. He peers into cool blue eyes, unable to believe his own ears.

"Fuck, man, apologize? I expect you'll probably buy yourself a beer for getting the shot in you did."

"You deserved it."

Maybe he did. Steve has no idea what he deserves anymore. But one thing he does know is that he can't just stand here with Bucky looking at him like that. He'd never had much success at staying mad at Bucky, no matter what the provocation. "We are going to have to deal with this sometime," Steve says, voice low.

Bucky gestures dismissively between the two of them. "There _is_ no we, alright. Just a mistake."

Mistake... The word, ugly and raw, rips through him. 

"Mistake?" He steps closer, menace and hurt in his voice as he studies Bucky. He's tired from the beat-down by the Phillies, and absolutely not in the mood for Bucky's self-deception. "So, your _entire_ senior year of high school and last year's All-Star Game was..."

One of Bucky's hands comes up, lightning-fast, and pushes at Steve's chest. "Shut the fuck up, man," he hisses, eyes narrowing, lean body coiling for another fight. "High school was ten fucking years ago and what happened in New York last year was a fucking _mistake_ , alright, and if you keep this shit up, Fury's gonna be the least of your worries. Let it fucking _go_."

Steve steps even closer, pressing his chest against Bucky's, the heat crackling through them, alive and untamed. "Why, are you gonna throw at my goddamn head again like you did earlier in the year in Boston?"

"That was a warning shot and payback for Lackey hitting Rhodey."

"That's _bullshit_ and you know it." Fuck this fucking shit and fuck James Buchanan _Bucky_ Barnes while he's at it. He's had just about enough. "You're the one that came on to me at Pedro's, not the other way around. So if last year was a mistake, it was _your_ mistake. Not mine."

Bucky doesn't move by so much as a muscle. "I wasn't aiming for your head that day."

"Bucky..."

Bucky shakes his head, and takes that crucial first step back. Steve stumbles before righting himself. The loss of heat feels like winter. "It's Barnes to you," Bucky says. "Or teammate. We haven't been friends for a long goddamn time and I'm not interested in anything else you have to offer."

The fuck you aren't, Steve thinks, as he watches Bucky stalk off to the showers.

***

 **Full Name:** Jim Morita - 27|P  
 **Born:** 06/24/1982  
 **Birthplace:** Sacramento, CA  
 **Height:** 5'11" **Weight:** 175  
 **Bats:** Right  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** Fresno State University  
 **MLB Debut:** 04/16/2006

  
"You know, this ain't exactly the best way to win friends and get us to the post-season, ace."

Steve doesn't even open his eyes when he feels Jim Morita drop into the chair next to him. Has to be Jim – there's no mistaking his country-ass drawl for anyone else. The hot shower Steve had taken had done nothing to soothe aching muscles and an aching brain. Everything about Steve hurts, from the tops of his feet to his scalp. Hell, he may not even get dressed – he can think of worse things than just sticking around the clubhouse until tomorrow's game. 

"Fuck off, Chief, I don't remember asking for your opinion," he mumbles.

He cracks an eye open when Jim pokes him in the side. Jim's customary shit-eating grin is absent, his wild dark hair is pulled into a damp top-knot, and he's got to be wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt in the history of Hawaii or shirts. Steve has no idea how Jim isn't blind. 

"When it comes to the good of this team, I don't care if you ask or not," Jim says. "What the hell happened out there today?"

"Nothing, man, everything's cool." Which is about as blatant of a lie as it gets, but Steve's not about to tell Jim a damn thing. Yeah, he's known the guy since they played together in Pawtucket in their Triple-A days, but that don't mean he's gonna spill his guts. 

"You're a bad fucking liar, Cap." Steve tilts his head, squinting, as Sam drops to the chair on his other side, dressed in one of his customary beat to hell rainbow-bright t-shirts and torn jeans. "Can't remember the last time I've seen Bucky so pissed."

"Yeah, well, trust me, I've seen him way madder than that more than a few times growing up. And I don't give a damn about him or _how_ pissed he is at the moment," Steve states, and reluctantly stands, towel sliding to the floor. Fuck the both of them – if they want to lecture him, they're gonna have to do it while he's getting dressed. He reaches for his deodorant and looks down in time to see Sam and Jim exchanging looks. "What?"

"Look, it's like this." Jim takes a tin of Copenhagen from his back pocket and stuffs a bit in his lower lip. Makes him look like he's pouting. "This is a big stretch of games for us."

"I know that, genius, we have a chance to gain ground on the Braves and the Nats, and every win is a big one down the stretch, all of the usual bullshit that managers spout for the media, yada fucking yada. I'm not exactly a newbie. And I'm used to the pressure of being on a major market team. It's not like the Red Sox are the Astros, okay."

Sam scoots forward, gaze earnest and focused on Steve. "Which is what we're trying to tell you. We can't afford this."

Sarcasm is, apparently, lost on Sam these days.

One thing Steve's always hated is being told what to do. Another is being ganged up on by a well-meaning group, friends or not. He pulls his shirt down over his head, and glowers down at both men. "If the two of you don't back the fuck off, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to tank the rest of this season. I'm dead serious. I don't want to talk about it. Whatever's between me and Bucky is no one's business but ours." 

"Fine, fair enough." Sam returns the look, steel for steel. "But keep your personal bullshit with him out of the stadium, or I'll brain you with your own bat."

"Fuck, you two are bloodthirsty, I'd forgotten that," Jim chuckles, then slaps his hands on his knees as he stands. "C'mon, let's be civilized about this and go grab a beer." 

"Can't," Sam says, and also stands. "I should see about getting Bucky calmed down. Dude's my damn ride home."

"Pussy."

Sam jabs Jim's shoulder, then dances out of reach. "Shut up, Chief, don't bust my balls. I have to live practically next door to the guy, and besides, my girl's got a soft spot for him, so I'm stuck with his dumb ass."

"Lucky you," Jim drawls. 

Steve forces the smile and buttons his jeans. "Besides, aren't you pitching tomorrow?" he asks Jim. "You sure going out's a good idea?"

"I always pitch better when I'm slightly hung over. I think it helps keep my sinker down if my arm's a little tired."

"Huh." Pitchers, man, they're an odd bunch even in the best of times.

"Hey, it worked for Mike Mussina," Jim says. "Now, c'mon. Whiskey waits for no man."

***

 **Full Name:** Clinton Francis Barton - 25|CF  
 **Born:** 08/06/1983  
 **Birthplace:** Waverly, IA  
 **Height:** 6' 1" **Weight:** 190  
 **Bats:** Right  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** N/A  
 **MLB Debut:** 05/15/2006 

  
The nice thing about going out drinking with Jim is that they don't just talk baseball all night. Steve loves the game, but he's always been a big believer in having a life outside the stadium. He appreciates having teammates who also understand that sometimes it's good to just talk about other shit, to let what happened on the field stay on the field. 

The other nice thing about Jim is he generally picks up the tab. Of course, that means getting stuck in shitty dive bars doing shots of Jack all night, but Steve figures he'll get into the hang of it again. It hasn't been that many years since their days in A-ball. Of course, both he and his liver had been younger then. And no one was really asking him about his relationship or lack thereof with Bucky Barnes.

Fuck Bucky, man. And his goddamn gorgeously soft mouth and the laugh lines around it. And his long fingers and rough voice and washboard abs and that chuckle of his when he's amused. And the way he throws a sinker and that fastball of his that darts the corners of the plate like a homing missile. And fuck the way he used to always have Steve's back in a fight and how he'd always always _always_ been the one person Steve had been able to count on as far back as he could fucking remember and how all of this – everything that had fucked them up and turned them into virtual strangers – is _Steve's_ fault, his screw up, if he'd just kept his goddamn mouth _shut_ , maybe he and Buck would still be friends, or at least friendly. and –

Fuck it. He's done. He can't keep thinking like this, it's gonna drive him right over a cliff. He's just here to play ball and get the Avengers to the play-offs and win another fucking ring to add to the two he's won in Boston, that's it.

He wonders how long it'll take him to believe it.

***

**(August 4 2014 – San Francisco Giants vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, bottom of the 9th, none out)**

  
"Hi everyone, you're listening to the Avengers Radio Network on 680 The Fan, and welcome back to Avengers Tower. We're in the bottom of the ninth, final chance for the Avengers, who are down by one and looking to avoid a four-game sweep by the San Francisco Giants and to end a five-game losing streak. Hope everyone out there has their rally caps on and ready. 

"Santiago Casilla, the electric Giants closer, is on the mound completing his warm-up tosses. He'll be facing the number three, four and five hitters in Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson and Tony Stark. And here's Stephen to take you to the house."

"Thanks, Chris. It hasn't been a lot of fun for either the team or for us this last week, but hope springs eternal in baseball, and if anyone can turn things around, it's the guys coming up to bat. Casilla looks ready, Rogers steps into the box, and Casilla fires the first pitch right down Broadway for strike one."

"Casilla's bread and butter pitch is his cutter, but he's got a nasty hook he can throw as well, and he uses both sides of the plate effectively. He's a little better pitching against righties, which is why Steve's turned himself around and is batting left-handed."

"I'm telling you, having a true switch hitter in this lineup is going to pay dividends down the stretch. The 0-and-1 pitch is fouled back our way, and the count is 0-and-2 on Rogers."

"Steve's got better pop on the right side, but his numbers are pretty much identical on either side of the plate. But right now, I think he'd settle for a base hit to get this rally going."

"Strike three called on the inner half on a back door cutter and Rogers is furious at the call. He tosses his helmet and the bat – don't let anyone tell you he hasn't got a temper – and he's got a few choice words for home plate umpire Ben May, which we won't repeat as this is a family broadcast, as he makes his way to the dugout. And in comes the Hammer, Thor Odinson, who's two for three tonight with two singles and an RBI.

"Casilla shakes his head at the sign by Buster Posey, finally gets one he likes, and Thor hits it home run distance, but about forty feet foul down the right field side. 0-and-1 the count."

"Looks like he just got ahead of it a little bit. Thor's always had big-time power, but he's been learning to drive the ball a little more, which is why his slugging percentage is up this year."

"Casilla throws the sinker, but it's a little too low, I guess, so the count evens up. Posey held the pitch for awhile, but May wasn't biting. Looked like a good pitch from here, but we'll take the gift. The next pitch is a fastball way up, and the count is 2-and-1."

"Even a walk here would be nice. Hey fans, don't forget that the Avengers Heroes and Legends Bobblehead Nights presented by Gulf continues on Tuesday, August 12th with our newest Avenger, Steve Rogers. First 20,000 fans into the stadium get one, and if you thought Thor's hammer Bobblehead was great, wait until you see what the Avengers have in store for Captain America. It's inspired."

"Ball three on _another_ borderline pitch. You think Thor gets the greenlight here?"

"With his ability to tie the game with one swing of the bat, absolutely."

"Casilla steps back to the mound, rares back and fires. Fly ball, pretty well hit, but playable and Hunter Pence hauls it in near the warning track for out number two. The Avengers are down to their final out with Tony Stark coming up to bat. Tony's one for three on the night, with a double, and a walk, but he's 0-for-17 against Casilla, which just reads like a misprint."

"I can't imagine Tony being 0-for-17 against anyone."

"It doesn't seem possible, does it? Tony steps in, taps the dirt off his cleats with the bat, and squares up. There's that cutter, just tailing in to catch the outer corner for strike one."

"That was Casilla's nastiest pitch of the night, by far. I know it's only a short flight to D.C., but it'll feel a lot longer if we lose this one. No one wants to hit the road on a six-game losing streak, especially since Morita pitched a pretty good game."

"The offense just hasn't been able to get anything going. Tony swings at the next pitch and it's a grounder right to Crawford, who throws it to Belt for the out, and that's the ball game, folks. The Giants win it 3-2, sweep the four game series, and the Avengers losing ways continue for a sixth straight game. The winning pitcher is Sergio Romo, who is now 5-3, Casilla records his 19th save, with Jim Morita taking the hard luck loss to go 9-6. We'll be back with the game highlights right after this."

***


	4. Chapter 4

  
"Good evening everybody, Karl Ravech and Barry Larkin here, and welcome to another action-packed edition of Baseball Tonight on ESPN, sponsored by Degree. Later on this hour, we'll check in on the Tigers/Yankees game and see if the Cubs' bats are any match for Jake Peavy, but for now, we go to the nation's capital, where the Nationals and Avengers are just starting up their three-game series. Barry, what's going on?"

"Thanks, Karl. The Avengers are in a free-fall right now after being swept by the Giants earlier in the week and losing tonight to the Nationals. Gio Gonzalez, after a rough first inning where he gave up two runs on four hits, retired his last _twenty-two_ batters in order before Tyler Clippard came on to pitch a perfect ninth in a non-save situation. Final score, Nationals 7, Avengers 2. 

"About the only bright spot for the Avengers' the last couple of weeks has been Bucky Barnes, who's got a microscopic 0.96 ERA with 17 strikeouts and only two walks in his last two starts."

"Don't forget, he's done all of that with virtually no run support from his team, either. The Avengers've seen their team batting average go from a healthy .296 to .264, and it's even worse with runners in scoring position right now."

"Not exactly how the Avengers were expecting things to go after signing Rogers."

"No, it's not, Karl, and I'll tell you, I'm not sure that bringing Steve into this volatile mix was such a good idea. Over the past week or so, manager Fury has had two meetings with general manager Chester Phillips. Although we're told Fury's job is secure, I have to wonder how long that'll last with the Avengers playing the lackluster ball they're playing right now. Romanoff's a pretty hands-off owner, but she's made no secret of the fact that she wants to bring a World Series championship home to Avengers Tower and she's not afraid to make bold moves to get it."

"I guess we'll see if they can turn their fortunes around. They'll have Dernier on the mound tomorrow, but he's squaring off against an unhittable Stephen Strasburg."

"Well, if anyone can rattle Stephen's cage, it's Steve Rogers. He's a lifetime 7 for 12 against the left-hander, with three home runs. Chances are, though, he won't get a pitch anywhere near the strike zone."

***

 **Full Name:** Gabriel William Jones - 21|1st  
 **Born:** 12/01/1992  
 **Birthplace:** Gulf Shores, Alabama  
 **Height:** 6' 2" **Weight:** 210  
 **Bats:** Right  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** Vanderbilt University  
 **MLB Debut:** 04/22/2014

  
If there's one field that Bucky hates above all others, it's Nationals Park in Washington, D.C. Yeah, sure, everyone goes on about how hard it is to pitch in the thin air at Coors Field in Denver or in the bandbox that's the All-American Ballpark in Cincy, but he'd take the cozy confines of fucking Wrigley Field over this place. For whatever stupid reason, he's never had luck here: maybe it's the humidity or the way the ball carries or some Natitude fan has put a goddamn hex on the place, but Bucky hates it every time he has to take the mound. 

Sure, he's had worse luck in Tampa, but he hardly ever has to pitch there, even with inter-league play happening more often these days. And who knows, maybe he'll get lucky and the Rays'll finally move into a decent stadium at some point. Although that has about as much chance happening in his lifetime as the Cubs winning a World Series.

"Yo, Barnes, heads up!" Bruce shouts, and Bucky flips his shades down at the same time he brings his glove up to catch Banner's toss. Twelve noon on a Saturday, and the humidity's already high enough to drown a water buffalo and he's stuck shagging fly balls like some goddamn idiot. How the hell do people _function_ in this heat? It's like moving through a swamp and about as pleasant. 

(Not that he knows jack shit about swamps. But he thinks playing nine games a year in Atlanta and in Miami should qualify him as an expert in the awfulness of sticky heat.)

He glances around the field – everyone's either in batting practice or running drills – and sees Sam doing his stretches with Rhodey. They're both bent at ridiculous angles, made even more ridiculous by the mile-long legs both of 'em have, like they're gazelles or llamas or emus or some shit. Bucky suppresses a chuckle at the thought.

Then his gaze slides, of its own volition, over to Steve, who's in the batting cage taking his swings. His forearms, already glistening with sweat, bunch with power and grace as he smoothly follows through and carries the ball into the upper decks. Prettiest swing in all of baseball, no doubt about it, and it isn't even close.

Even though he shouldn't be looking at Steve at all.

Not that he's had a great time of telling himself that over the past week.

He watches, unable – unwilling – to look away as Steve completes his swings, then steps out of the cage. Gabe Jones, just called up last night from Triple-A after they DFA'd Zola (who'd never really fit into the team and couldn't hit the broadside of a fucking barn the last two months, first off, and second, Gabe had been _raking_ down in Vegas, so it's well past time he got his shot to prove himself full-time on the big club and God knows the team can use all the hitting power it can get), who's next in line, holds out a hand to Steve. Kid's been here for about twenty minutes (like, literally, he's just come from the airport), looks all of twelve, and seems about as eager to please as a puppy.

"Hey, I'm Gabe Jones."

Bucky sees Steve take the offered hand in a solid shake. "Steve Rogers."

"Yeah, man, I know." Gabe shifts from foot to foot, powerful young body fairly vibrating with nerves and energy. His wide grin could light up all of D.C. "You're sort of my hero. Modeled my swing after yours and everything."

Seriously, where did Phillips _find_ these kids?

"That's, uh, nice to hear," Steve replies noncommittally. It's hard to tell with the way the sun is beating down on everyone, but it looks like Steve's blushing. Still can't handle a compliment. Guess some things haven't changed all that much since they were kids.

"I never thought I'd get a chance to play on the same team as you. Thought Boston was gonna lock you up for life."

"Yeah, well, everyone's expendable for the right price. We can't all be Chipper Jones or Derek Jeter."

Gabe nods, like Steve's spouting the gospel instead of just making small talk. "I've only been up in the bigs once – for, like, a week back in April. Still learning the ropes, so to speak."

"Enjoy it while you can. It'll only be new once." 

Steve giving advice. Now Bucky's heard everything. The Steve he'd grown up with hadn't had the patience of a gnat. He'd been full of piss and vinegar, always squaring off against everyone and everything, with a big ass temper to match that sweet swing. But then, as Bucky keeps reminding himself, ten years is a long time and they don't know each other anymore.

"Thanks, man," Gabe replies, and makes his move to step into the cage.

"And, uh, Gabe?" He stops, gives Steve an expectant look. "Don't put so much weight on your back leg during your follow-through. I've been watching you your last couple of times in the cage, and you've got a nice smooth swing, but you're losing a lot of power when you try to pull it. You want to guide the ball, y'know?"

"Thanks, man." 

Bucky's positive that Gabe's feet aren't even touching the ground when he steps in to take his tosses. Unbelievable, man. One bullshit piece of advice that any junior coach would have given, and the kid's acting like he'd just gotten a pep talk from Hank Aaron or Ted Williams.

"Chasing rookies now?" he asks, when Steve gets close enough he doesn't have to shout.

"Don't be jealous," Steve replies, the smirk not quite reaching his eyes. "Not like I wasn't giving advice to you first."

"Fuck you." Bucky doesn't know why the hell he even bothers. He doesn't know why he's so pissed at Steve, either, but he's been pissed at Steve for so long that it feels normal.

"Seriously, I get it. Bad for the team dynamics, don't wanna show favoritism to any one newbie over the other, blah blah fucking blah. So don't worry, your rookie meat's safe with me."

Bucky frowns. That wasn't what he meant at all. "That's not…"

"Save it." Steve looks just as pissed as Bucky feels, although Bucky wonders why. Bucky's just trying to look out for the team. "We’re not friends, remember. And I don't need your advice on how to talk hitting with anyone. I was the one that taught _you_ how to swing a bat, not the other way around."

Yeah, Bucky thinks to himself sourly, as Steve heads over to the railing to sign a few autographs for some early-bird fans. He remembers.

***

**(August 6 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Washington Nationals, in D.C., top of the 8th, one out)**

  


  
"Fuck me, but I'm tired of losing to teams in our fucking division," Sam remarks, popping his bubblegum with a loud smack.

Bucky, from his position leaning against the railing next to Sam in the dugout, can only nod. "Agreed," he says. Out on the field, Barton steps in to the batter's box. Drew Storen, the Nationals eighth-inning set-up guy, takes his sign from catcher Wilson Ramos and throws a slider. Clint scorches a line-drive, but hits it foul, so they do it all over again.

Top of the 8th, one out, down by three, and all Bucky can think is 'here we go again'. Forget being tired of losing to the Nationals, Bucky's just tired of _losing_. The last seven games have been about as bad as it gets, and certainly their worse stretch of games so far this season. 

Clint takes a low strike, then works the count for a walk, and Bucky claps his encouragement along with everyone else in the dugout. Bases are loaded – Garcia, pinch running for Dernier, is at third, Gabe's on second, Clint's on first, and Rogers is coming up to the plate. Which is a match up Bucky'll take every damn day of the week. He may not like Steve personally much these days, but there's no one else he'd rather have up at bat in this situation.

"C'mon, Cap," Fury calls out, still acting as cool as a cucumber, like his job's not on the line every single night these days. Which is bullshit, man, it's not like Fury can force the team to get their shit together, but still –

"Holy fucking shit!!!"

" _STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE_!!!" 

Bucky whistles in admiration as Steve just _tattoos_ next pitch with a loud crack of the bat and that sound – well, that sound only means one thing in baseball. The ball goes rocketing over the left field wall and into the stands and _boom_ shaka-laka. 

Grand. Fucking. Slam. 

Loud cheers erupt from the Avengers faithful in the stands who'd made the trip south. Everyone in the dugout springs to their feet, clapping and hooting up a storm like they've won the World Series. (After losing seven straight games, having a lead really does sort of feel like a Big Fucking Deal.) Steve gives 'em all that big trademark grin of his and the thumbs up as he jogs around the bases. 

The mood of the team instantly turns on a dime from despondent to jubilant and celebratory. There are high fives and hugs all the way around when everyone heads back to the dugout and Sam is the first to pick Steve up in a bear hug. Steve's still laughing when Sam sets him back on his feet, right in front of Bucky.

For the life of him, Bucky can't think of a single thing to say.

Steve's smile fades, and he gives Bucky a curt nod, then makes a move to walk past. Bucky suddenly finds his voice.

"Hey!"

Steve stops and turns. Bucky wracks his brain. Guy'd just hit a granny, the least Bucky can do is be a team player. "Sweet swing, man."

A tiny smile reappears on Steve's face. Bucky wonders if Steve's thinking about all their afternoons and evenings practicing that swing, going through every part – stance, hips, shoulders, wrists, hands – over and over and over until it was rock solid perfect. "Thanks."

"Uh, and...the, uh –" _think_ , Barnes, think "– the Braves are losing to the D'Backs right now. We might even gain back a game."

"Hey, it's a step in the right direction," Steve replies, then laughs as he steps into Rhodey's big-ass bro hug.

Something in Bucky shatters at the sound. Why the hell is he even trying? Too much water under the bridge, too much has been broken between them. Best just to let it lie.

***

***

 **Full Name:** Thor Odinson - 46|RF  
 **Born:** 11/15/1985  
 **Birthplace:** Broxton, OK  
 **Height:** 6'5" **Weight:** 240  
 **Bats:** Right  
 **Throws:** Right  
 **College:** University of Southern California  
 **MLB Debut:** 04/02/2008 

  
Thor flings water everywhere when he comes out of the showers, towel-drying his long, shaggy hair with all the vigor of Bucky's family's Labrador retriever. Come to think on it, Thor's got a lot in common with Ribby. Both of 'em are big and blond and strong (Thor's honest to God built like a brick shithouse, it's ridiculous, especially when he's up to bat and flexing those arms of his) and friendly as all hell. Thor also takes his position as team morale booster pretty seriously. He's always quick with an encouraging word or a hug or willing to spend a few extra minutes in the cage or on the field or going over spray charts and discussing UZR with anyone who needs it. He's also got an eidetic memory when it comes to the game, and can rattle off stats and numbers without even thinking about it.

Thor stops in front of his pile of clothing and pulls on his underwear. Bucky doesn't bother moving from his position on the bench. He should finish getting dressed – his slacks are pulled on, but not buttoned, and his shirt is also unbuttoned – but he can't seem to muster the energy.

He hadn't even pitched today and he's tired as hell.

"Cheer up, Bucky," Thor grins, "you're acting like we lost today."

"A lot on my mind."

Thor sits on the bench next to Bucky to pull on his jeans. "Friend, you've always got a lot on your mind." 

"What can I say, I'm a thinker."

"That's exactly what I think when I think of you, too. Bucky Barnes, the cerebral pitcher." 

"Just call me Professor Junior."

"It does have a nice ring to it," Thor says. "Have you heard the news about David Price yet?"

"Nope." Bucky hopes it's nothing serious. In the Year of the Tommy John Surgery, any time Bucky sees a pitcher's name trending on Twitter, his heart sinks. He counts himself as lucky that his own elbow has held out as long as it has, and that he'd only needed minor shoulder surgery back when he'd still been in Double-A. "What happened?"

"He took a no-no against the White Sox into the 9th, and gave up a double with one out, can you believe that?"

"Tough luck, man." Bucky winces in sympathy. He still vividly remembers his one and only no-hitter a couple of years ago, and how miraculous it had been. How everything had seemed pre-ordained by the baseball gods to give him this one shining moment of immortality. "I'll have to text him later."

"You two came up together in the minors, right?"

"Yeah, we used to play against each other all the time in A-ball. Does Frenchy know yet?" Price and Dernier had gone to Vanderbilt together. Come to think on it, the rook's also a Vandy guy. Damn good baseball program there, apparently.

"Who else do you think told me?" Thor waits a beat. "Feel like talking about what's bothering you now?"

"Nope," Bucky replies promptly. But he gives Thor props for trying.

"Fair enough." Thor stands and pulls on his t-shirt. "Wanna go grab a bite to eat instead?"

"Yeah, you bet," Bucky replies. He's not really hungry, but hanging with Thor beats going back to his hotel room and brooding. Even if he's not exactly sure why he's brooding to begin with. Besides, everywhere Thor goes, mega-hot chicks follow like a trail of breadcrumbs – even though Thor's happily married and has a kid – and pretty girls are always a nice distraction from thinking. 

"You know, it's just baseball. It's a simple game."

"It's not the game."

"You always feel this need to make things way more complicated than they should be. It must be a gift." Thor ruffles Bucky's hair affectionately on his way out the door. He passes Sam, who takes one look at Bucky, then sighs.

"What is it?" Sam asks.

"What's what?" Bucky winces when he gets a good look at Sam's shirt. Screaming orange and teal blue stripes. His jeans look like they haven't been washed since the Bush administration. There are days when Bucky despairs of Sam's life choices. He knows for a fact that Sam can dress to the nines if he's got a date or if they're going to an event, so he doesn't get why Sam feels this deep need to dress like a homeless man most of the time.

"Don't dick with me, Buck. That look. What's with it?"

Bucky finally starts to button his shirt. "It's not directed at you."

"Who pissed you off?" 

"No one." Bucky stops. That's not entirely true. But he can't very well tell Sam the truth. "Everyone. Leave it, alright."

Sam looks like he wants to argue, then he shakes his head. "It's your funeral, man."

"I appreciate it. Thor invited me to dinner. Walk me out?"

"What am I, your bodyguard?"

"Hey, someone's gotta keep the fans off my jock. If I sign too many autographs, my hand might cramp up and then who'd pitch tomorrow," Bucky replies, and forces the smile. He wonders how long it'll take before it'll seem real.

"You're a fucking asshole, what the hell makes you think they'd waste time with your diva ass when they could be taking selfies with me?"

"Maybe because I'm not dressed like I just rolled around in the outfield grass for an hour."

Sam plucks at his shirt collar. "This shirt is way too stylish for your boring-ass white boy tastes."

"Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that."

They keep up the friendly bickering as they wander into the clubhouse. A group of reporters is crowded around tonight's hero with recorders and mics and video cameras. Steve looks supremely uncomfortable, although Bucky's not sure anyone else could even tell. But to Bucky, who used to know Steve better than himself sometimes, it's screamingly obvious that Steve would rather be anywhere else.

Bucky knows just how he feels.

***

 **NYPost:** What were you looking for on that pitch, Steve?

 **SR:** Just something to pull. Bases loaded, only one out, it's important to put the ball in play, see what happens. With the way our luck's been going this past week, all I wanted was to get the ball into the outfield, avoid the double play. Storen's got a great four-seam fastball, so I was just looking for something off-speed to hit. I got lucky.

 **ESPN:** How important was it to stop the seven-game slide tonight?

 **SR:** Oh man, every game is important, but when you're in a skid, getting that first W to break it is huge. Hopefully now that we're off the schnide we can continue the momentum, steal another win tomorrow, and start trending in the right direction.

 **NYTimes:** Your first week or so here hasn't gone the way anyone's thought it would. Do you think you're finally starting to settle in and find a rhythm with the team now?

 **SR:** Winning definitely cures a lot of problems, but I think I've settled in alright. You always want to make a good first impression, especially when you're on a team that you grew up watching and rooting for, but it's a funny game. The guys've been super supportive, though, we've all had each other's backs. I'm just happy we were able to give Frenchy some run support. He pitched a helluva game for us tonight.

 **NYDailyNews:** You've got Bucky Barnes on the mound tomorrow night for the rubber game. How confident are you that you guys can sneak out of here with a series win?

 **SR:** Very. Every time Bucky's on the hill, you've gotta feel great about your chances. He's one of the best pitchers in the National League, maybe in all of baseball, and he goes out there and battles every fifth day, gives it everything he's got. That part hasn't changed at all since we were kids, and I doubt it ever will. We just gotta do our part and get him a few runs to play with, back up that great pitching.

***

 **Full Name:** Jacques Dernier - 31|P  
 **Born:** 02/13/1983  
 **Birthplace:** Montreal, Quebec, Canada  
 **Height:** 6'2" **Weight:** 190  
 **Bats:** Left  
 **Throws:** Left  
 **College:** Vanderbilt University  
 **MLB Debut:** 05/08/2005

  
"Another round, Cap?" Frenchy asks, pointing at Steve's empty glass.

"Nah, better not," Steve says, and stands. Normally, he'd be okay with sticking around, but for some reason, he's a little more beat than usual. Talking to the media tends to sap his energy. 

He reaches for his wallet, and frowns when Frenchy shakes his head. "I've got you covered."

"Hey, c'mon –"

"When you hit a grand slam on my watch, you don't pay for your meal or your drinks. Frenchy's rules."

Bruce claps Steve on the back. "I wouldn't argue with him."

"Yeah, alright. Thanks," Steve says, and smiles. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hold up, I'll walk out with you," Bruce says, and throws a few bills down to cover his part of the tab.

They leave Frenchy and Doc huddled together talking shop and decide to walk the three blocks back to their hotel. It's still ridiculously warm out, even though it's well after eleven, but Steve's used to it. Not too much difference weather-wise between Boston and New York and D.C. this time of year – it's all just muggy and hot.

"That was a good win today," Bruce says, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses with a finger.

"Yeah, it was. Felt good to finally get one. I was beginning to think I was bad luck for the team or something."

"Streaks happen." Bruce shrugs. "I'd be more worried if the Braves hadn't gone 2-5 the last seven games."

"It's always nice when the team ahead of you isn't doing too hot."

"You mind if I ask you something?"

"If the question is have I watched those episodes of _Cosmos_ yet, the answer is no," Steve answers. Bruce, in addition to being the best bad ball hitter since Vlad Guerrero, is a science fanatic. About the only person who knows what he's talking about half the time is Tony, but Tony's a certified genius and has a degree in mechanical engineering from Georgia Tech. Steve's happy as hell to have them both on his team, but some days he wonders why the two of them are playing baseball instead of building spaceships to Mars or curing cancer or something.

"That wasn't the question, but you should." Bruce smiles. "I noticed earlier that you and Bucky seem to've buried the hatchet."

"There wasn't a hatchet to bury."

"We were all there for the series in Boston in April, Steve," Bruce reminds him. "I've played with Bucky for four years and I have never, not once, ever seen him throw at anyone's head before that game."

Steve would give about ten grand not to be having this conversation right now, but he knows Bruce doesn't mean anything by it. It's natural for the other guys to worry. After all, it's their club, too. "There may have been some ancient history we were working through," he offers. It's a good enough description for what had happened as any.

Bruce holds open the hotel lobby door. "And is it worked out?"

Steve steps in and jerks his shoulders up. "As well as it's gonna be. Don't worry, we're fine."

"Who're you bunking down with?" Bruce asks, when they get in the elevator. 

"Clint."

"Of course, I don't know why I asked." Bruce claps Steve on the back again, offers a lopsided grin. "Well, if you need to talk, I'm in 1218. Probably by myself. Tony mentioned going out."

Good old Tony. Still out there earning his playboy rep like a boss. "He still with that one Brazilian model?" Steve asks.

"This week. You know next week it'll be a different one." Bruce leans in, like he's imparting a state secret. "Dunno if you've seen it yet, but we got a Victoria's Secret calendar hanging in our clubhouse back at the Tower. We think he's using it like a dating catalogue."

The laughter is warm, welcome, and just what Steve needs. "Good night, Professor."

"Nite, Cap. See you in the morning."

When Steve stumbles in his room, Clint is already there, and bouncing some tiny, but very vocal, chick on his dick, the bed rocking and moving like crazy. Steve jerks to a halt, brows furrowing as he takes in the sight. He'd forgotten – stupid of him, really – about Clint's well-known exhibitionist streak. 

Clint's flat on his back, a sheen of sweat covering his chest, hands curling comfortably around the girl's flared hips. Her head's thrown back, eyes closed, black hair shimmering in the light. "Hey man," Clint drawls, but doesn't stop moving. His hips piston up like a jackhammer, the girl moaning and crying out 'Ooh-oooh-yessss' in a disjointed rhythm.

When Steve finally lurches out of his stupor and steps forward, he has every intention of brushing past them towards his own bed and passing out, despite the noise. Wouldn't be the first time he's fallen asleep with his road partner going at it on the other bed. Then the girl opens lazy-slitted eyes and smiles, slack-jawed, cheeks flushed with the way Clint is slamming into her. The smile is part invitation, part challenge, and Steve's too tired to resist it. 

And who knows, maybe getting his dick sucked will help to finally relax him.

The girl doesn't even bat an eyelash when Steve reverses direction and puts one knee on the bed. She just opens kiss-bruised lips, flicks out her tongue, and waits. Clint smirks, like he'd expected nothing less, and slows down, rotating his hips in small circles. When Steve looks down, he can see the way her pussy's stretched around Clint's cock, glistening and tight. 

Steve doesn't say anything as he unzips his jeans and takes out his own cock. He's already painfully hard, and knows he won't be gentle. But his last coherent thought as the girl bends her head to swallow him whole and Clint starts to move again, is of the way Bucky can't even look at him in the eyes these days.

Steve closes his eyes, grabs a handful of hair, and tries not to think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Full Name:** James Rupert Rhodes - 24|2B  
**Born:** 01/12/1984  
**Birthplace:** Philadelphia, PA  
**Height:** 6'1" **Weight:** 210  
**Bats:** Right  
**Throws:** Right  
**College:** Virginia Military Institute  
**MLB Debut:** 04/19/2006 

  
**(August 8 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Philadelphia Phillies, in Philadelphia, pre-game)**

  
"Hey, is anyone else having a problem with their iPad?" Rhodey asks, wandering into the film room with a frown on his face.

Bucky and Dum Dum look up from the monitor where they're going over the Phillies hitters. "What's the problem?" Dum Dum asks, around a full lip of chew. He and Chief, man, headed right for oral cancer, but whatever, Bucky's not anyone's idea of a mother hen or the moral police. Half the shit they all do'll kill 'em sooner or later.

Rhodey thrusts his iPad in the air and the frown intensifies. "I can't fucking login on to WiFi right now. How the fuck am I supposed to get square in tonight's game if I can't see the video we've got on Burnett?"

"Well, shit, Rhodey, you just faced AJ, like, two weeks ago," Bucky says. "Is your memory that bad?"

"Screw you," Rhodey retorts, with narrowed eyes. "I just can't remember if I hit that dinger off of him last time on his cutter or his sinker and it's driving me nuts."

"Find Coulson and ask him," Dum Dum suggests. "It's his job to know shit like that. You know he's got the charts on everyone."

"I think it was his sinker," Bucky supplies, trying to be helpful, then shrugs as Rhodey goes stomping off, yelling for Coulson like someone's just shot his dog.

"They say the memory is the first thing to go," Dum Dum cackles, and spits out a dark wad of juice into his cup.

"You're fucking older than he is, dude."

"Yeah, I know, and that's why I'm still down here looking over film with you instead of in the weight room doing my stretches. Usedta be I could remember everyone I ever faced and every pitch I ever threw 'em like that." Dum Dum snaps his fingers for emphasis. "But now we got iPads and film and YouTube and spray charts and every other fucking thing, it's like we don't even need to remember shit anymore."

Bucky grins. "Yeah, okay, grandpa, you want a walker when you take the mound tonight or maybe a comfy chair to sit in between pitches?"

"Watch it, kid, or I'll make you do extra pushups for a month."

"Bring it," Bucky says, and flexes, showing off the guns.

"Although speaking of doing extra shit in the weight room, you know what Cap's got all the position players doing these days?"

"Nope." Bucky pops the P, his entire body tensing at the mention of Steve's name. Like Pavlov's fucking dog, man, he's gonna give himself an ulcer by the end of the season or pull a muscle or something. 

He can just see the headlines now in Jayson Stark's year-end Strangest Injuries column on ESPN.com – _Pitcher Injures Self Thinking Too Hard About Ex-Best Friend_. Cue all the terrible jokes and bad puns.

Dum Dum spits into his cup again. "He's got some crazy new-fangled training shit they've been doing up in Boston the last couple of years, these bike warm-ups and agility exercises that he swears'll keep the team healthy down the stretch and cut back on hammy injuries. I'm thinking about checking it out. He's got some good ideas."

"He always did," Bucky agrees. Steve had always been the innovator, the tinkerer, the one willing to buck tradition and incorporate something new and different into his mechanics or his PT or his eating habits or whatever else. Whatever it took to win. The only thing Steve had never fucked with was his swing or the timing on it. (Why mess with perfection, right.)

"You two seem to've calmed down a little bit," Dum Dum observes. "Thought for sure you were gonna actually kill each other for a minute there."

"Feuding with someone on your own team's a bad idea, everyone knows that."

Dum Dum nods, smoothes his fingers over his mustache. "What the hell was all that fighting all about, anyway? Something happen to you two when you were growing up or what?"

"Nope," Bucky lies, with a totally straight face. "But ten years is a long time. We're different people now."

"I guess," Dum Dum says, then bends his head back to the screen and Anthony Rendon's last at-bat against him. Bucky's just as happy to change the subject.

***

  
**Edward Jones Chatting Cage Video Chat – August 9 2014**  
**Special Guest: Steve Rogers, shortstop of the New York Avengers**  


**EJ:** It's time for another round of the Edward Jones Chatting Cage, and I'm ready to start firing up the pitching machine. Today, we have seven-time All-Star and two-time World Series champion, Steve Rogers, former shortstop of the Boston Red Sox and now with the New York Avengers. Thank you for taking the time to chat with me and the fans, Steve. Are you ready to handle some cuts here in the cage?

 **SR:** Absolutely, let's do this. Thank you for having me on.

 **EJ:** Alright, I'm starting with a Twitter question, and fans, start firing up those webcams and we'll get some of you guys on the line. I'm gonna go to @Millie496 for our first question. Now that you've been in the National League for a couple of weeks, do you like the pitching better or worse?

 **SR:** Well, there's obviously a lot of great pitching in the National League. I mean, you've got Kershaw and Strasburg and Teheran and Henderson Alvarez and, God, everyone on the Giants and Cardinals, I mean, I definitely don't think I'm going to have an easier time of it now that I'm here. But I'm certainly happy not to have to face the Rays pitching or King Felix or David Price or Justin Verlander that much anymore. 

**EJ:** Just to follow up on that, is there anyone in particular you're looking forward to facing now that you're in the NL?

 **SR:** Adam Wainwright, maybe? Or Johnny Cueto, I think we're playing the Reds in a few weeks, and he throws a ton of strikes, so I think he might be a good challenge. I'm just looking forward to helping the club any way I can.

 **EJ:** Sounds good. We're going to the webcam now. Hi there, what's your name, where are you from, what's your question for Steve?

 **Fan:** Hi Steve, I'm Fernando and I live right here in New York, and I gotta say first off, we're all so glad that you're back home where you belong – 

**SR:** Thank you, Fernando, I'm pretty stoked to be back in Brooklyn myself.

 **Fan:** My question is, did the fact that you and Bucky Barnes grew up together and played ball together help you become a better player in the majors?

 **SR:** Oh, uh...no doubt. I think, uh, I think we helped each other. I mean, we were both extremely competitive growing up – still are – and even when we were in T-ball and Little League, he used to love striking me out and I used to love getting a hit or going yard off of him, and we were constantly studying the guys in the bigs, studying how they pitched or breaking down their swings, that sort of thing.

 **EJ:** Let me sort of piggyback on that great question and ask if that's continued now that the two of you are reunited on the same team. Are you back into your old routines of breaking down players together or is the dynamic different?

 **SR:** Uh, well, it's different. I mean, I haven't really been around him the last ten years, so there's a certain amount of us, uh, sort of getting to know each other all over again. But some things are still just like they were when we were kids. I mean, his feet still reek and he is still chronically late to everything.

 **EJ:** Well, good to know some things haven't changed. Alright, let's take a question from Facebook...

***

"Themed road trip on the way to Chi-town," Tony declares when everyone's suiting up, over the strumming of Jim on the guitar. He's been giving himself lessons all season but Bucky's not sure he's getting any better. Of course, he's not getting any worse, either, but that's not saying much.

Thor pulls his hair back into a ponytail. "Hippies."

"I vote zoot suits," Clint says, because he is utterly predictable when it comes to themes. "I've got the perfect hat."

Gabe raises a hand. "I'm sorry, um, what, exactly is everyone talking about?"

"Ah, yes, for the rookie and the newbie," Tony says, with a half-bow Steve's direction, "a few times a year, we do themed road trips."

"Oh, like the Rays are always doing," Steve says, and grins, blinding-white and quick. Bucky's pretty sure he could power a small city with that smile. That smile had always gotten Steve more girls falling over him than even the admittedly righteous bod or the superior hitting skills. (Bucky used to be a sucker for that smile too, in ancient times.)

"Precisely," Tony says, pointing at Steve. "So, the vote is zoot suits or hippies. All in favor of hippies?"

Everyone except Clint and Monty and Doc raises their hands.

"Sorry, Clint," Thor says, and leans over to muss Clint's hair. "If you steal a base tonight, maybe we can reconsider."

"Ha fucking ha," Clint mumbles, tying the laces on his cleats. "Fuck the Phillies and their fucking Nazi pitchers."

"Awww, Bullseye, no sad faces," Rhodey grins, buttoning his jersey. "Maybe you'll get lucky and Buch'll throw a wild pitch or something."

"It's not the same if I don't straight up take the bag."

Privately, Bucky thinks Clint's just screwed, then. He tries to smother the grin, but catches Steve glancing at him with a conspiratorial us-against-the-world-right look on his face that Bucky pretty much knows by heart. A look Bucky's missed so much it's like a physical ache.

He returns the look and the small smile, and ignores the pain in his chest. 

***

**(August 12 2014 – San Diego Padres vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, bottom of the 5th, none out)**

  
"Welcome back everyone, happy to have you with us on the Avengers Radio Network. We're in the bottom of the 5th, the Avengers are all tied at three apiece with the Padres, thanks in large part to the man striding up to the plate, Steve Rogers, who hit a towering, majestic two-run homer his first time at bat –"

"– Exactly like you should on your Bobblehead night –"

"– and he strokes the very first pitch he sees into center field for a single."

"That one looks like got in a little on his hands, but he stayed with it, didn't try to do too much with it, and Thor Odinson is up to bat. He also had a hit his last time up, a single and a run scored on Banner's RBI-double. The Avengers have been seeing the ball pretty well tonight against Ian Kennedy."

"He doesn't have his best stuff, that's for sure, Chris. And Odinson pops it up on the first pitch. There's not a lot of foul territory by the third base line here at the Tower and even though Grandal makes a great slide, he can't get to it. And Thor survives. He normally would have been out, but since Headley was playing so far over, he didn't have enough time to get to the ball."

"0-and-1 the count on Thor. He takes a change-up high and away and Rogers takes off for second. There's the throw by Grandal, a little high, and Steve is SAFE with a perfect slide!! Have yourself a night, Captain."

"He's taking this 'do great things on your Bobblehead night' mantra pretty seriously."

"I'll say. And this is exactly what the Avengers were hoping they'd get out of Rogers when they traded for him – plus defense, some pop in the lineup and some speed on the base paths. He's the five-tool player this team has desperately needed."

"Thor pops it up again, this time towards the first base side and Goebbert's under it for out number one. Tony Stark's up next, he's 0-for-1 tonight, but having a pretty good August so far. And we take ten seconds for station identification on the Avengers Radio Network."

_You're listening to 680 The Fan, the flagship station for your New York Avengers. Get all your Avengers news and score updates right here._

"It's a 1-and-1 count on Stark. Rogers is still camped out at second, but he'll be on the move. Here comes the pitch and that's a gapper between first and second and it's gonna roll all the way to the wall! Rogers can trot home and Stark pulls up at second with his 30th double of the year and RBI number 78. Tony's great month continues and the Avengers take the lead for Bucky Barnes."

"That was some excellent batting by Tony there. He didn't try to do too much with it, just rolled on it and took advantage of the shift to drive the ball between Solarte and Gyerko for an RBI-double."

"The next batter is Bruce Banner, he's 1-for-2 on the night with a walk and he takes the first pitch outside for ball one. Tony's not being held on at second, but he's not a big threat to run, so he's just a few steps off the bag. Here comes the pitch and Banner skies this one into right field and it's got some carry to it, but Will Venable snags it at the edge of the warning track for out number two..."

***

 **Full Name:** Robert Bruce Banner - 39|LF  
**Born:** 07/25/1985  
**Birthplace:** Dayton, OH  
**Height:** 6'2" **Weight:** 195  
**Bats:** Right  
**Throws:** Right  
**College:** Pennsylvania State University  
**MLB Debut:** 09/01/2005 

  
"Weight room, Bruce!" Clint calls, when Bruce returns to the dugout and pulls off his batting helmet.

"Yeah yeah, real fucking funny." Bruce flips Clint off, drops next to Steve, and sighs. "Just got under the fucker."

"If the wind was blowing a little to the left, it might've gone out," Steve offers in sympathy. Actually, at Fenway, that ball would have been long gone or at least caromed off the Monster for a base hit, but every park plays just a little different, and the Tower is no exception.

"Tony's gonna be pissed if we leave him hanging, man."

"Rhodey'll drive him in," Thor says, and just like he'd willed it into being by saying it out loud, Rhodes hits a line shot along the right field chalk to drive in Tony and they're up by two. Steve risks a quick glance to Bucky, who's got a big grin on his face.

"Alright, Buck, there's your lead, now go get 'em," Fury says, over Clint's laughter.

"I'm just glad you guys finally remembered how to hit when I'm on the mound," Bucky gleefully replies.

Thor rolls his eyes. "Need we remind you that we just won for you in D.C.?"

Steve looks around in confusion. Gabe looks just as confused, which isn't surprising. "I don't get it."

Thor jerks a thumb Bucky's direction as Sam strikes out on three straight, the last one so far off the plate it was almost in the dirt. "Bucky'd never won a game at Nationals Park until last week."

"Wait, really?"

"Yep," Bucky confirms with a shrug. "Checked another ballpark off the list finally."

"Wow." With the Nationals being a division rival, that's huge news. Steve wonders why there hadn't been more of a celebration. Or maybe there had been and he just hadn't been invited. It's not like he and Bucky are any closer now than they were when he'd first gotten to the team.

Fuck, something's gotta give. This shit is getting utterly ridiculous.

***

  
Steve waits until after the game (and, more importantly, the win – they're finally trending in the right direction, fuck yeah), after he and Bucky have given their interviews and done the media song and dance. He makes sure to time his exit with Bucky's so they're heading to their cars at the same time. Fortune or fate or the gods or something must be smiling on him, because they're the only two people in the player's lot. For once, it seems, Sam isn't hitching a ride with Bucky back to Manhattan.

Which means it's now or never, and Steve's never, not once backed down from a fight.

"Hey, can I get a word?"

Bucky stops, turns. Tosses his car keys up in the air and neatly catches them. His eyes seem to gleam in the glow of the streetlamps overhead. "Yeah, if you must."

"Yeah, I kinda do." Steve's not going to lose his temper. He's not. He'll be the better fucking man if it kills him. Which is a role reversal of epic proportions and he knows it. Back in the day, it would have been him wading in all raring to fight and Bucky would have been the voice of reason pulling him back from the brink.

"Alright, I'm listening."

"Okay, look, before –" Steve stumbles on the words, has to look away from Bucky's piercing gaze, otherwise he'll never get through his little speech "– before everything that, y'know, _happened_ between us...happened, we used to be friends, right? I mean, Buck, you were my best friend since before I could even crawl. I knew you better than anyone. I don't think a single thing happened to me growing up that you weren't there for...and maybe we're not close now, but all of that history's gotta mean something."

He risks a glance back Bucky's way. The space between Bucky's brows is wrinkled. "What're you getting at?"

"A truce." Steve lifts a hand, drops it awkwardly to his side. "I know we're not friends these days, haven't been in a long time, and that's okay, but I can't keep...I mean, what if we just, I don't know –"

"Okay," Bucky interrupts, quietly.

"Okay?"

"Okay, yeah, a truce," Bucky says, and even though he doesn't move, Steve feels like they've gotten closer. "I'm just as tired of all this fighting and sniping at each other shit as you are."

"Okay," Steve repeats, relieved. He can't believe it's that simple. _Nothing_ has ever been that simple for him. (Nothing, he thinks, except the easy friendship he and Bucky'd had once upon a time.)

"I mean, I gotta be honest, it's been really weird being at your throat the last few weeks," Bucky says. "I don't ever remember us having a fight that had lasted more than a day."

Steve nods, lets out a high-pitch laugh, and he can all but feel the hard line of tension in his shoulders deflate. "Yeah, you can say that again."

Bucky offers a small, genuine smile. "I mean, I'm not saying I want to be besties again right away or anything, but us pretending that we don't have all this history together...it's just..."

"Yeah, I know. Weird," Steve says, blinking back sudden tears. Ten years of separation, gone in a second, as easy as that. "Can I...so, um, you wanna maybe grab a beer or something?"

"Can't," Bucky says, but his look is apologetic. "I'm headed to the pediatric center at Maimonides Medical tomorrow morning before the game with some of the other Commandos, so I need to get some sleep."

"Oh. Yeah, okay, maybe tomorrow after the game, then, or –"

"You should come tomorrow. I mean, if you want," Bucky adds. "I think the kids would get a kick out of seeing you."

"You sure?" Steve asks. The last thing he wants to do is intrude.

"Yeah, it'll be fun." Bucky grins, wide and quick. "We give out gifts and such to the kids, you know, for our Christmas in July thing. But you gotta wear a Santa hat at least once."

"You know it's August, right?" Steve jokes, and is relieved beyond words when Bucky just laughs.

"Yeah, we're a little late on it this year. So?"

"Sure, absolutely." Steve grabs onto the offer like a lifeline. "I'll meet you there, just tell me when."

Even if they're just pretending for the season, it'll be better than anything he's had in the last decade.

***

 **Full Name:** James Montgomery Falsworth - 2|P  
**Born:** 08/13/1983  
**Birthplace:** London, England  
**Height:** 6'4" **Weight:** 220  
**Bats:** Right  
**Throws:** Right  
**College:** University of Kansas  
**MLB Debut:** 09/02/2004

  
**(August 13 2014 – San Diego Padres vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, before the game)**

  
Falsworth is the first person Steve sees the next morning when he steps into the hospital lobby. Like Steve, he's wearing jeans and his baseball jersey, but Monty's also sporting a Santa hat, and he's wearing a lit-up string of Christmas lights around his neck.

"Real festive," Steve comments, with a grin.

"The children love this stuff." Monty jerks a thumb to his left. "Jim and Bucky went to get some coffee. We're just waiting on Dum Dum and Chen to get here." Chen's the official Avengers photographer.

"Sounds good."

"How'd Bucky convince you to come?"

"Uh, he asked?"

"Huh." Monty purses his lips. "I suppose everything really must be good between the two of you now."

"Yep, seems like," Steve replies, and Dum Dum and Chen come in just as Bucky and Jim return.

"Hey, Steve, you made it." Bucky's smile is warmer than the sun outside and the best damn thing Steve's seen in months. 

"Well, someone had to show up and give the kids some good conversation," Steve replies, grinning right back.

"I resent that, I can totally speak eight-year-old fluently," Jim says, with mock indignation. "And five-year-old, for that matter." 

"Both of mine are teenagers now, but I remember those days well," Dum Dum says.

Monty glances around at the group. "Are we doing this or what?"

A supervisor signs them in, gets a few pics, and leads them up to the pediatric wing.

The first twenty minutes or so are bedlam – Dum Dum and Monty play Santa and dole out gifts, with Bucky and Jim and Steve playing the part of helpers, and it's amazing to see how excited the kids are to have them there and to maybe (hopefully) forget about their trauma or problems for just a little while. The profession they'd all chosen has a lot of perks (drawbacks, too, but Steve thinks the good definitely outweighs the bad), but Steve thinks this has to be the best one. Just the idea that he can bring some joy into someone's life, especially kids going through a tough time, it's amazing.

But even more amazing is getting to watch Bucky in action. He'd always been great with kids – even back when they'd been stupid teenagers doing stupid teenager shit, he'd treated the younger kids in the neighborhood like he was their big brother. But now...he could totally go to work as a counselor or something. And everyone in the Cancer Center seems to know Bucky by name, from the staff to the children to the parents.

"You must spend a lot of time here," Steve observes, during a small break in the madness.

"Come on, what's the one big guiding principle both our moms drilled into us from the time we were old enough to walk?"

"Never swing at a pitch tailing away from the plate," Steve jokes, then dances out of the way of Bucky's playful punch. "Yeah, yeah, I know, always give back."

"Exactly. And I bet there's some pediatric ward in Boston that's pretty sad you're not around anymore."

"Maybe," Steve says, even though it's true. But he'll find a way to get up to Boston Children's Hospital in the off-season and continue his charity work. 

"Come on, though, I want you to meet some special friends of mine," Bucky says, and leads him into a brightly colored room where two kids – neither one could be more than eight or nine – are curled up in over-sized armchairs reading.

Both look up when the door opens. "Bucky!" the little girl cries happily.

"Hey, Jess, how's my favorite girl?" Bucky says, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. "You're look good, babe."

She beams and lifts her arms for a hug, which he obligingly gives her. Then he turns to the reed thin boy in the other chair. "Hey, Patel, how's it hangin'?"

Patel accepts the fistbump, and smiles. "Doc says I'm responding well to the treatments."

"That's great news, buddy."

Jess peers around Bucky to stare at Steve. Her eyes widen. "Are you _Steve Rogers_?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, and drops to his haunches. He sticks out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh my God, Bucky, you brought him!!!" she squeals, returning Steve's handshake with trembling fingers.

"She's been after me to bring you around ever since she read me and you were friends."

Patel plays with the frayed ends of his long-sleeved shirt. His eyes are almost too large for his face as he glances back and forth at both of them. "Is it _really_ true that you and Bucky grew up together?" 

Steve nods, flicks a glance to Bucky, who's shaking his head fondly. "Sure is. I've known Bucky my whole life."

"Our moms were friends, so yeah, like Steve says, I really have known him as far back as I can remember."

"And is it true that you gave him the Captain America nickname?" Jess asks.

"Yep," Steve confirms. He's just as glad that the guys are in another room – he doesn't mind telling the kids this story, but he'd just as soon that he and Bucky not catch any shit for it in the clubhouse. "I was, what, eight or so –?"

"You were seven, I was eight –"

"Close enough. And I was sick a lot when I was a kid, had pneumonia a couple of times, childhood asthma, I was skinnier than you and probably shorter –" Steve winks, and grins inwardly when she giggles "– and Buck used to keep me company in the hospital."

"Like you're doing with us?"

"Exactly," Bucky replies, with his own smile for Patel. "But unlike you guys, Steve didn't have any brothers and sisters, so that's where me and my family stepped in."

"That's what best friends do," Patel nods.

"Yes it is," Bucky agrees. 

"Anyway, Buck used to make up these stories about this big brave superhero named Captain America and his smart and loyal partner, the Winter Soldier, and all the crime they'd fight and all the bad guys they'd beat up on and all these adventures they would go on together, and he'd tell 'em to me when I was laid up, to make me feel better –"

Jess turns to Bucky. "Do you remember any of the stories?"

"Sure." Bucky shrugs, sheepish and a little self-conscious. "Next time I come, I'll tell you a couple."

"Oh my goodness, that is so cool."

Patel looks between the two of them. "So if Steve was Captain America, were you the Winter Soldier?"

Bucky nods. "You can't very well have a superhero without a partner to watch his back, can you? Where would Batman be without Robin?"

"You got better," Jess says, tilting her head at Steve. "How?"

Steve's heart breaks a little at the hope in her voice. He reaches over and clasps her hand, feels her pulse, butterfly quick, under his fingers. "I had amazing doctors and some really important people in my corner. And I had a dream that I wasn't going to let anyone take away from me."

"What dream was that?"

Once again, Steve's eyes find Bucky's. "To play professional baseball alongside my best friend in the whole world."

The corners of Bucky's lips curve, the smile small and intimate and all Steve's. "Mission accomplished, Cap."

*** 

"What's the funniest practical joke someone's played on you?" a kid, couldn't have been more than seven, asks. After their visit with Patel and Jess, he and Bucky had moved into the playroom with the other Commandos to do a little Q&A with some of the other children.

"Uh, well, it'd have to be Dustin Pedroia, back when I was still with the Red Sox," Steve replies, mindful of his very young audience. "We bet a steak dinner on the outcome of a game in the Little League World Series, and my team won. Only when it came time to pay up, instead of taking me out, he brought a cow into the locker room instead."

The kids' eyes grow wide as saucers. "An actual cow?"

"Yep." Steve grins, steadfastly ignoring Bucky's muffled laugh. "An actual full grown cow. I thought Tito – Terry Francona, who was managing the team at the time – was going to have a heart attack."

"You should tell the ATM story," Monty says to Bucky, with a wickedly wide grin.

Steve immediately perks up. "ATM story?"

Bucky makes a face, but shrugs. "When I signed my extension last year – the, uh, five year one? – I go into the clubhouse and someone's taken out my locker and put an ATM machine in its place."

Dernier and Dum Dum slap each other on the back and laugh, and the kids all look around in confusion until Monty explains. "Bucky's contract extension was for over $120 million, wasn't it? So we figured if we ever needed any cash, we should hit him up."

"Oh, I get it!" one of the girls – Emilia, maybe – exclaims. "Like a Mr. Moneybags."

"Exactly," Dum Dum says, with a wide grin.

"Remind me to sign any deals in the off-season," Steve chuckles. He already loves this new team of his more than anything. 

***

  
 


	6. Chapter 6

**(August 14 2014 – San Diego Padres vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, before the game)**

  
"Good evening. Greg Amsinger and Eric Byrnes here, and welcome to MLB Tonight, where our top story didn't even take place on the field. The Avengers' very weird August continues in a truly bizarre fashion, with the news that their RBI-hitting machine and third baseman, Tony Stark, is out of the game tonight and might miss at least a week and possibly go on the DL for – and this is unbelievable, folks – spraining his finger while breaking up a _fight_ between two of his girlfriends. Apparently, this is what happens when you date models, Eric."

"I wish I had that problem, Greg. Although I'm not sure the headache would be worth it."

"No kidding. So, what do the Avengers need to do now to keep the runs scoring while Tony's out of the lineup?"

"Well, they're a solid team, talent-wise, and they've really started to gel together in the last several games. Hopefully they can still remain competitive with Tony out of the mix for what is hopefully only a few days."

***

 **Full Name:** Anthony Edward Stark - 32|3rd  
**Born:** 03/27/1983  
**Birthplace:** Saigon, Vietnam  
**Height:** 5' 10" **Weight:** 185  
**Bats:** Right  
**Throws:** Right  
**College:** Georgia Institute of Technology  
**MLB Debut:** 07/23/2004

  


  
"Your finger, Tony?" Fury looks mad enough to breathe fire. Steve doesn't blame him. He hadn't been all that happy to hear about the injury himself. "Why not your fucking neck?"

"Look, I didn't mean to do it, alright." Tony looks just as mad as Fury. Steve wonders why the hell he's here in Fury's office, and hopes it's not to get between them if they come to blows. He's a terrible mediator.

"What, fuck two chicks, or get caught?" Fury asks.

"Get into a fight. I mean, shit, I know what we're up against..."

"Do you? Because, from where I'm sitting, _son_ ," – the emphasis is heavy with irony – "we just lost our best fucking hitter - our clean-up man – for at least the next week, and I can't even count on you to DH for us while we're in Oakland."

"I'll make it up to the team."

"When you figure out how you're going to do that, you let me know. Now get the fuck out of my office."

Fury motions at Steve to sit as Tony storms out, slamming the door shut behind him. Awkward.

"You, uh, wanted to see me?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, I did." Fury crosses his arms over his broad chest, and regards Steve thoughtfully. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"To lead this team." When Steve opens his mouth to protest that he's way too new to be leading anyone, Fury leans in. "Look, I know what you're gonna say. Why you, why not Bruce or Sam or Thor? And I'll tell you why. Because these guys, they all to a man look up to you. You're one of the best pure hitters in the game, you've managed to anchor this defense tighter than a chastity belt on a nun, you've already won two World Series rings, and you don't make a lot of fuss. And Barnes' particular brand of passion doesn't intimidate you."

"That's not the word I'd choose, no," Steve replies, schooling his features into impassiveness. He tries to concentrate on what Fury wants from him, and not on the churn of conflicting emotions just hearing Bucky's name still – _always_ – brings to the surface. "But I just got here, like, a little over two weeks ago. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this."

"Too bad," Fury states. His gaze doesn't waver. "Time for you to step up, earn your keep, and do what Romanoff brought you here to New York to do."

Steve's smart enough to know that Fury's not backing down from this. "Okay," he says, and wonders just how the hell he's supposed to lead a team when he's still figuring out everyone's dynamics.

***

When he steps out of the office and back into the clubhouse, the first person he sees is Sam.

"What the hell does that say on your shirt?" he asks, sure he's reading it wrong.

Sam tugs at the hem. " _I Rode Bodacious For Nine_ ," he recites, proudly, and nope, Steve hadn't misread it at all. The shirt is bright blue. There's an honest to God picture of a cowboy on the back of a bucking bronco just under the words. Steve's not sure if he's horrified or amused.

"Do I want to know why you own that?"

"It's what Chief calls Bucky."

" _Bodacious_? Bucky Barnes?" Now Steve's heard everything.

Sam nods, then sits on the bench to pull off his Kicks. "Fury had it made for me after Bucky's no-hitter two years ago. On account of Bucky's arsenal of pitches."

"Uh huh."

"Because I'm the only catcher that can handle his heat."

There are _so_ many ways Steve could respond to that statement, and most of them would get his ass kicked or at least get him in another fight. So, because he's got a healthy respect for Sam's right hook (Sam may play the aw-shucks nice-as-apple-pie guy, but he's got a temper and a bitching swing), Steve decides, for once in his life, to let discretion be the better part of valor and stay silent.

Which lasts up until the moment Bucky walks in the clubhouse. And then, as always where Bucky's concerned, some perverse part of Steve kicks into gear.

"Hey, Bodacious!" he calls. "How you doin'?"

"Fuck off," Bucky replies, not bothering to look at Steve.

Steve's grin widens. "C'mon, buddy, don't be like that."

"I mean it," Bucky says, with a glower. "Just 'cause we're friends again doesn't mean you can give me shit."

"Uh, yeah, that's _exactly_ what it means."

"Don't let him sweat you," Sam chuckles. "He's just pissed that Fury didn't make him one."

"It's a stupid-ass nickname. Makes me sound like a fucking porn star." Bucky yanks off his shirt. The thin, white stripe of the scars on his shoulder – courtesy of shoulder surgery he'd had back in his Double-A days – stands out in stark relief to his skin. Steve vividly remembers tracing them with his tongue.

"And why the _hell_ would I want to ride myself?" Bucky continues, thankfully oblivious to Steve's x-rated thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm not even touching that one," Sam says, before Steve blurts out something he will definitely and forever regret.

Clint and Thor both amble in at that moment and toss their gym bags into their respective lockers. "What's up with Tony?" Clint asks, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the cafeteria. "If he was a cartoon character, he'd have steam coming out of his ears."

"Do you not even _look_ at the emails when Fury sends them around?" Sam asks, incredulous.

"No," Clint replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. "I figure whatever it is that's happening, I'll find out about it when I get here."

Thor starts stripping out of his street clothes and into his gym clothes. "Claudia and Nadine found out about each other."

Clint, who's also changing into shorts and a tank top, just gives Thor a bemused look. "Which, okay, that sucks, but what do Tony's pussy problems have to do with the game tonight?"

Bucky exchanges a 'see what I have to put up with' look with Steve, then replies, "Well, apparently, they went after each other and he stepped in the middle of it and busted up two of his fingers."

"Well, that's just dumb." Clint finishes tying his running shoes and sits up. "Didn't anyone ever teach him not to get in the middle of a catfight?"

"Times like these makes me glad I'm no longer a single man," Thor states.

"Yeah, well, until Tony's ready to grab a bat again, run support is on me and you, so be aggressive on those first pitches if you see something you think you can swing at." Steve figures he may as well get started on the whole leadership role he's supposed to be displaying now. He hopes Fury is happy.

"Speaking of, when we're done with our cardio, I wanna pick your brain in the cage for a minute," Clint says. "Whatever you were doing last week with Gabe really worked."

"Sure," Steve says, "whatever you need."

"Steve's the man when it comes to hitting," Bucky says, bumping Steve's elbow. "He was our de facto hitting coach back in high school, taught me everything I know about laying down a perfect bunt."

"Well, seeing your past few times trying to lay one down, maybe you two need to have another lesson or two," Sam says, with a wide grin.

"My door's always open," Steve offers, although he kinda hopes Bucky never takes him up on it. Learning to be friends again is one thing. Being truly alone with Bucky? Yeah, that'll only end in disaster.

***

  
"Good evening, Avengers Nation and welcome to the rain delay show, sponsored by Hyundai. Chris and Stephen here with you and we'll be taking your calls and questions at 1-866-AVENGER, and we might be here awhile, folks. The rain is really pouring down here in the Windy City, so we should be able to get to quite a few of you."

"Yeah, the storms started last night and have been intermittent all day, and about two hours ago, it started coming down pretty hard again. And, I gotta be honest, Chris, after the plane ride last night, I think the players might not object if tonight's game does get rained out."

"Can't argue with you there, Stephen. For those who haven't heard the story, it was like every traveler's nightmare for the team on the flight out of New York after last night's game. First, the Delta charter plane had a _hole_ in it, so they had to unload everyone and put them on another plane. Then they had to circle around O'Hare for over an hour due to the poor weather, so by the time everyone actually got to the hotel last night, it was well after two in the morning."

"And you know no one got any good sleep last night, either, and can you blame them. Between Tony's freak injury and the transportation issues, they've got to be wondering what else can possibly go wrong right now."

"Hopefully they can reverse the curse and keep the winning train rolling. They've finally gotten into a groove, and you hate to see it get derailed by some bad luck and bad weather."

***

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Jim asks, once it's clear that the rain's not letting up any time soon. Everyone expects the umps to call the game in the next few minutes.

"Dunno, call the bullpen, get ahold of Barnes, see what he wants to do," Clint drawls.

"Sam?"

"What, like I'm Bucky's secretary now?"

"Aren't you?" Steve grins.

"Isn't who what?" Bucky drops down on the bench next to Clint. His hair and uniform are wet from running from the bullpen to the tunnel, because Wrigley Field is just that damned antiquated. (Steve tries very hard not to look like he's looking.) 

Fury trots from the field – where he'd been conferring with Cubs manager Rick Renteria and the umps – into the dugout, and gives everyone a small shrug. "Game just got called, guys. No make-up date announced yet, but no double-header tomorrow."

"Hell, we'll be lucky to get in a _single_ game tomorrow at this rate," Steve says, gesturing at the roiling black clouds overhead. They all look up at the torrential downpour. It's been coming down in never-ending sheets for the past three hours. 

"Getting a night off won't be the worst thing ever, considering how late we got in," Fury says, and swipes off his sodden ball cap. 

"Amen to that," Sam says.

"Well, I'll leave you gentlemen to it." Fury pauses at the entrance to the tunnel. "Don't stay out too late, don't get arrested."

"How can we if Tony's not around?" Clint calls, as Fury heads inside.

"Guess we're on our own tonight," Sam observes. "Who's up for going out?"

Everyone raises their hand except Rhodey.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Rhodey asks, giving Bruce a puzzled look.

"You coming out with us or not?"

"Not tonight. My girl's waiting for me back at the hotel, and if we're not playing tonight, I should probably get to her."

"I dunno why you even keep her around," Clint replies, shaking his head. "She doesn't even like baseball." He says it like he can't fathom anyone not liking the game. Steve knows just how he feels.

"Who cares?" Rhodey replies with a grin. "She looks hot bouncing on my dick, and that's all that matters."

"You're so fucking dumb sometimes, you know that."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. I-Married-My-High-School-Sweetheart-Who-Dumped-My-Ass-For-Her-Tennis-Instructor-And-Took-Half-My-First-Big-Contract."

"So what?" Clint smirks. "Bitch is _kicking_ herself that she didn't stick around long enough for the $30 million extension two years ago."

"Just get a damn pre-nup if you're ever dumb enough to get married again," Rhodey says.

"Never happening," Clint states. "Once was enough. I'm a free and single ladies' man from now on, with equal opportunity love and orgasms for all."

Having seen Clint in action (more than once now), Steve can't argue with that sort of logic.

"Fuck it, let's go for some wings and the driving range," Sam says. "There's an indoor place not too far up the road from the hotel."

"Seriously?" Steve asks. Sam's terrible at golf. Like, his game is worse than his dress sense, which is saying something.

"Yeah, why not?"

"They got a vegetarian menu?" Bruce asks. 

"Probably," Sam says. "Although I still don't get how you can build muscle when you don't eat meat."

"We are _so_ not having this conversation again," Jim states. "Thor, you up for golf and wings?"

"If there's beer, you know I'll be there."

"Well, I'm in," Steve says, and can't hold back his surprise when Bucky also says yes. "I thought you hated golf."

"I've learned to like hitting things with clubs," Bucky says, and grins. "It's cheaper than therapy."

"Amen to that," Thor agrees.

"Alright." Sam stands, gestures at the group. "Let's get dressed and get this party started."

***

"Worst error you've ever committed?" Sam asks, after he tops off everyone's beer. 

"That's easy," Clint states. He throws his gnawed-on chicken wing bone onto his plate. "September 1st 2009 against the Phillies, 9th inning, two out, and I drop a routine fly ball. Extended the inning, Phillies won and went on to beat us in the Wild Card race that year."

"Yeah, that one was a doozy." Bruce ducks out of Clint's half-hearted swipe. "Cap?"

Steve, like Clint, doesn't even have to think about it. "Booting an easy grounder off of Evan Longoria in Tampa. Johnny Damon came up next and just hammered one up in the rings for a homer. September 23rd 2011."

"Yeah, you guys were cursed that year," Clint says. "I remember that game. Not sure who had it worse, you or the Braves, as far as tanking the season."

"Trust me, as far as most of the media was concerned, it was _all_ about Boston's massive failures."

"Be thankful that you, at least, didn't get all caught up in the fried chicken and beer part of the shebang," Thor says. "You and Dustin Pedroia where the only Red Sox players that seem to have escaped unscathed."

"You're not kidding," Steve says, and twists to face Bucky, who'd taken the seat beside him (also to his considerable surprise.) "Buck, how about you?"

"Well, I dunno about an error, but giving up a grand slam to Adam fucking Wainwright, of all people, in May of 2010 was probably my worst pitch ever," Bucky says, with a rueful smile. "He still gives me shit about that, too."

"You gave him the sweetest pitch known to man." Sam laughs, saluting Bucky with his mug. "How could he not thank you?"

"Fuck off," but Bucky's grinning as he says it. Steve can't remember the last time he's seen Bucky so relaxed. High school, most likely.

"Alright, Thor, you're up," Clint says.

"May 17th 2009 against the Dodgers, sac fly by Matt Kemp. I lost the ball in the sun and it rolled all the way to the warning track. Two runs scored," Thor adds, with a heavy sigh like it still eats at him. (It probably does, Steve thinks.)

"Mine was back when I was still playing second base for the Twins," Bruce says. "July 12th 2006, lazy pop-up and I lost the ball in my shirt."

Clint chokes on his beer. " _Seriously_?"

"Seriously. I think it was a highlight-lowlight reel on ESPN for a year."

"Harsh," Thor comments, with a friendly pat to Bruce's back.

"Scariest pitcher you've ever faced?" Sam asks next. "Hitter in your case, Bucky."

"Ryan Howard," Bucky replies promptly.

"Wow, not Cabrera or Stanton?"

"Nope." Bucky takes a long swallow of his beer. "When Ryan's locked in, I'm more scared of him than Miggy and Giancarlo combined. He can kill you to all parts of the field."

"Well, my pitcher'd have to be Tim Hudson," Clint says. "I think I'm, like, 2-for-32 off him. It's ridiculous. Never been so glad in my life to see a guy get traded out of our division."

"1-for-32," Thor corrects. "Your infield hit off of him in 2011 was changed to an error on Freeman, remember."

"It is seriously freaky as shit how you remember all that," Sam says.

"I like numbers. They're soothing."

"Yeah, not even going there," Clint says. "Anyway, it's your go, Thor, who's your nightmare pitcher?"

"Clayton Kershaw," Thor says, tucking a hunk of hair behind his ear. "But I'm not too sure he counts since no one can hit against him."

"Fucking true dat," Sam says, with a quick fistbump. "That dude ain't even right. I swear, he's part machine."

"Speaking of freaks, Tim Lincecum, when he's healthy and on his game, he's got my number," Bruce adds in. "Steve?"

Steve knows his smile is ironic. He jerks his thumb at Bucky. "Him."

"Bucky?" Thor looks shocked.

"Fuck yeah, man. I used to get hits off him all the time when we were kids, but ever since we both went pro, facing him's like facing my worst nightmare. 0-for-16 with four strikeouts."

"All four of 'em looking, if I recall," Bucky says, with a small grin.

"Asshole." Steve laughs. "Fuck you and that nasty slider of yours."

"Thought you had a love-hate thing going on with CC Sabathia," Clint says. "New York press used to always go on about it when the Yanks play the BoSox."

"Not like this." Steve's gaze stays on Bucky's, and doesn’t waver. "Bucky scares me more than anyone else I've ever met."

Bucky simply nods. Message received. But then he slouches back in his chair, knee knocking against Steve's, and grins. "Hey, you remember our coach the year we went to the Little League World Series?"

"Yeah, of course, how could I forget, he got himself thrown out of our first semi-final game," Steve replies, on a laugh. "Coach Lakeland."

Bruce pushes his glasses up his nose. "Your _coach_ got thrown out of a Little League World Series game?"

"Arguing balls and strikes with the ump," Bucky confirms. "I wasn't pitching that day, it was, um, fuck, help me out, Steve –"

"– Pat Kim."

"Yeah, yeah, killer curve, total dick, though, heard he washed out in the minors." Bucky finishes off his beer, and waits for Sam to pour him a new glass before continuing. "Anyway, Coach Lakeland comes barreling out of our dugout, all bent out of shape and breathing fire, looking like Lou Pinella in a snit, and got his ass tossed. My pop wound up coaching the rest of that series."

"He was a damn good coach," Steve says. "Taught me everything I know about hitting into the shift."

"My dad was terrible," Clint says. "He was like those nightmare parents you see who berates the coaches all the time and thinks every game is life or death instead of a bunch of kids just having fun."

"At least yours showed up to your games," Bruce says. "As far as I know, my dad's still never seen me play."

"We will be better parents than our fathers were," Thor says, and clinks his glass to Bruce's.

"Oh, man, Buck, you remember Mitchell Hafferty's dad, right?" Steve asks. "Coached us my freshman year of high school? Now, _he_ was a terrible parent and an even worse coach."

Bucky groans. "Worst motivational speaker ever, too. What was that one thing he was always saying, about the season?"

"Baseball isn't a marathon. It's a sprint every day for nine innings," Steve intones, shaking his head. 

"That makes no sense," Bruce says.

"Oh, he had more where that one came from," Steve replies. "Another gem was, I'm for organizational advocacy. What we don't want is paralysis through analysis."

"Wow," Sam whistles. "Man, he sounds like a politician, not a ball player or a manager."

"Funny you should mention, because I think he ran for the city council or school superintendent or something," Bucky says. "No clue if he won or not. But he was a terrible coach. We went to State that year in spite of him."

"Some days, I think it's lucky any of us survived our childhoods with our love of the game intact," Clint says, looking around the table.

"Amen, brother," Sam says, and raises his glass. "To the best game in the world and may we never lose sight of how awesome of a game it is and how lucky we are to play it for a living."

As one, everyone raises their glasses in a toast.

***

**MLB Network's Intentional Talk with Kevin Millar and Chris Rose – August 19 2014**  
**Live with New York Avengers pitcher Bucky Barnes:**

**CR:** There he is, Cy Young contender and one of our favorite guys on the circuit, New York Avengers pitching ace, Bucky Barnes. How ya doing, Bucky?

 **BB:** I'm great, man, happy to be here, enjoying the California sunshine.

 **KM:** C'mon, man, no one's happy to play in Oakland. That stadium is a joke. The A's deserve better.

 **BB:** True, but the fans are super cool. And I'm not actually pitching this series since it's just a short two-gamer, so I get to kick back and enjoy myself. It's nice.

 **CR:** You got any cool things you do on the road to stay loose between starts?

 **BB:** Oh yeah, you know, I game a lot, and I try to take a little bit of time to get out, go and do something cool in whatever city we're in. Beats staying in the hotel or at the stadium all day.

 **KM:** I heard that. Okay, so I gotta ask this, is it true that your teammate Jim Morita has been teaching himself to play the guitar?

 **BB:** Unfortunately, this is true. I'm not sure why he decided during the season would be a good time to learn, but he's brought that guitar with him _everywhere_. But I will say he's getting better.

 **CR:** What's his signature song? I mean, is he jamming out to actual songs now or is he still learning progressions or what?

 **BB:** Well, right now he's in his classics phase, so we're hearing a lot – and I mean, _a lot_ – of Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry and all that stuff from the 50's. It feels like a doo-wop or sock hop or whatever it is people used to have back then.

 **KM:** You guys are on a roll right now after ending that seven game losing streak earlier in the month. Seems like every night someone's doing something spectacular out there to win the game for you. Was there voodoo involved or a snake charmer or better eating habits...?

 **BB:** Well, Bruce is always trying to get the group to eat better, but I think it's just that we're playing a little loose right now, having fun, not trying to do too much. No voodoo involved that I know of, but that's more Frenchy's department than mine. He takes the superstitions way too seriously.

 **CR:** And I know everyone's already asked you this about a billion times, but how excited were you to get your old friend Steve Rogers on the team?

 **BB:** Well, he's a helluva player, always has been, both offensively and defensively. My family was pretty excited, I can tell you that. Growing up, I think my pop liked him better because he took instruction better than me, especially when it came to hitting.

 **KM:** Who got into more trouble as a kid, you or him?

 **BB:** Oh Steve, for sure. He was always dragging me into trouble.

 **CR:** Is he going to agree with this or...?

 **BB:** I think he'd be the first to tell you that he was the ringleader. I mostly just followed along to try to keep him from getting beat up or arrested or both.

 **KM:** Alright, you ready for some Rapid Fire questions?

 **BB:** I am ready, One-Five. Bring it.

 **KM:** First, who's the worst dresser on the club?

 **BB:** Oh, man, that's easy. Sam Wilson all the way. Dude's fashion sense is terrible, I swear. My five year-old niece dresses better than he does.

 **CR:** Who would you say is the best dresser?

 **BB:** Me, without a doubt. Although Rhodey's got some really nice threads. I think he's got a professional dresser, though, so I'm not sure if he counts.

 **CR:** A professional dresser? That's a job people have?

 **BB:** Apparently. And I'm thinking of hiring one for Sam, not even kidding.

 **KM:** Two, who's got the best singing voice?

 **BB:** Surprisingly, Clint Barton, our center fielder. He straight up kills it on karaoke nights. And before you even ask who the worst singer is on the team, Steve has always been and always will be the worst singer I've ever met. He is an affront to eardrums everywhere.

 **KM:** Yeah, but you gotta admit, he's got really great hair.

 **BB:** He's always had great hair. Even when he was all skin and bones as a kid.

 **KM:** Three, best guns on the team?

 **BB:** Are you kidding me, have you _seen_ Thor shirtless? He's like some sort of Greek god or something with that physique. 

**CR:** He does look like he could bench press everyone on the team.

 **BB:** Probably all at once. His training regimen is ridiculous. But I will tell you what's funny is watching Tony and Monty try to keep up with him in the weight room.

 **KM:** (holding up an old picture of two preteen boys, one arm wrapped around the other, in front of a fireplace mantel) And finally, can you describe for me what is happening in this picture right here?

 **BB:** Oh my God, did my mom send you that?

 **KM:** I'm not telling, but I have my ways. Seriously, what the hell is happening in this? And what on earth is Steve wearing?

 **BB:** Dude, it was middle school, who knows. Oh my God, that's incredible. Um, I wanna say this was eighth grade for me, seventh for Steve, I think we were on our way to some school dance or another. God, look at my hair, I totally have the Farrah Fawcett wings going on.

 **KM:** That's some amazing hair right there, but can we talk about Steve's shirt for just a second. What _is_ that pattern?

 **BB:** Man, you'll have to ask him, he was stubborn as hell about everything when we were growing up, so I probably tried to talk him out of whatever that shirt is. At least, I hope I did. 

**CR:** I think I'm more worried about those pants you're wearing. But I've got enough bad clothing skeletons in my closet, I can't say too much.

 **BB:** Well, I appreciate it. Hey, Kev, can you send me that pic, I gotta show Steve.

 **KM:** Sure thing, but you gotta promise me you're gonna put it up somewhere in the locker room where everyone can see it.

 **BB:** Absolutely. 

***

***

***

Everyone's got their thing during the get-away flights, Bucky thinks, as he makes his way down the aisle of the plane. The rest of the Commandos are playing cards for pretzels (Dum Dum by far has the biggest pile), Sam's nose is buried in a book, Gabe and Thor are sitting together, heads bent over a tablet and watching film of Homer Bailey, with Thor patiently explaining to Gabe how Homer disguises the ball, which makes it hard to pick up his four-seamer versus the split finger. Rhodey and Bruce are huddled together watching the latest X-Men movie on Rhodey's laptop, with Bruce explaining the science behind genetic mutation (with Tony offering a few comments of his own), Clint is passed out with his face mashed against the window, and Tony is up front doing hand exercises with Happy.

Bucky drops next to Steve, and nudges his knee. Steve pulls out his earbuds, the wailing guitar and pulsing bass of Queens of the Stone Age spilling out of the tiny speakers. Steve Rogers and his love of hard rock, another thing Bucky remembers very well.

"'Sup?" Steve asks, with a small, welcoming smile that makes Bucky's stomach clench.

"Day off tomorrow, so we're taking advantage as soon as we get settled into the hotel."

Steve's brows furrow. "We are?"

"Yes," Bucky says, and nods for emphasis. "It's Wonky Tonk night at The Comet, and they have excellent beer on tap."

"Who's playing?"

Like it matters. "Who cares, it's live music," Bucky says, with his own broad smile. "Let's go get our sweat on and act like we're still dudes in our 20s."

"We _are_ still dudes in our 20s," Steve reminds him. "And the last concert I went to with you was Nine Inch Nails when we were still in high school and you almost got us arrested."

Bucky remembers that night for an entirely different reason, but it's a memory best left buried. "I solemnly swear to behave," he intones, hand over his heart.

"Yeah, because I've never heard that before," Steve scoffs. "Who all's going?"

"The rest of the Commandos," Bucky says. 

"Jesus." Steve shakes his head. "I'll bring bail money."

"Please, we all know it'll be me bailing your ass out again."

Steve pushes at Bucky's shoulder. "That happened once."

Bucky holds up two fingers. "Twice, or did you forget your sophomore year when you got arrested for disturbing the peace?"

"That one was your fault, Buck. You dared me, remember?" Steve asks, like Bucky doesn't remember every single thing about how easy it used to be to get Steve all riled up. Like Steve's not in every single memory Bucky has about his childhood and adolescence.

"And you're the idiot that fell for it," Bucky points out.

"Yeah, well, I was always a bit of an idiot when it came to you," Steve comments, with a mild shrug.

 _Same here_ , Bucky wants to say, but doesn't. "So, tell me what you've been doing the last ten years. Heard you got engaged..."

In fact, he remembers the exact day – the exact _moment_ – he'd heard the news.

"I did, and just as quickly, me and Peggy realized that we were making a mistake." Steve sounds sad, but not particularly heartbroken, which Bucky takes as a good sign that they'd made the right decision in calling it off. "We're still really good friends, though, so that helps. How about you? Any girls out there who've finally managed to tie you down?"

"A couple've come close, but I'm beginning to think I might not be cut out for settling down."

"I don't believe that," Steve says, with a skeptical look. "You always wanted a big family, remember."

Bucky does remember. He also remembers the day when that dream had started to morph into something else. "People change," is all he says. "Speaking of, you still drawing comics?"

Steve ducks his head and nods once, short and quick. "Yeah, but you can't tell anyone. I've been doing some work in the off-season drawing for one of the Big Two, but I use a pseudonym."

Bucky waits, expectant, but Steve doesn't say anything else. "Wait, that's it? Come on, you have to at least tell me which comic."

A small smile curls the ends of Steve's mouth. "It's one of the big titles for Marvel and that's all I'm saying," he says. "You still big into the whole antique car restoration thing?"

Bucky wants to press, but he figures he'll get the info out of Steve sooner or later. "Yeah, I have a bay at one of the repair shops in Brooklyn that I use for my restoration work. Did my 'Cuda all on my own this past off-season."

"You did a great job on it," Steve tells him. "It's a sweet ride. Much better than your clunker of a first car. I think we spent more time under the hood trying to fix it than we did actually driving it around."

"Ah, the Grand Am," Bucks says, with a fond smile. "Yeah, that thing was a total piece of shit. But we had some good times in it."

"Yeah, we did," Steve answers, and Bucky doesn't need to be a mind reader to know exactly that Steve is thinking.

"Soooo," he says, after a charged moment of silence, "what else is new with you?"

Steve just gives him a sidelong look, but accepts the change in subject.

***

 **Full Name:** Timothy Aloysius Dugan - 8|P  
**Born:** 09/27/1981  
**Birthplace:** Altoona, Iowa  
**Height:** 6'5" **Weight:** 245  
**Bats:** Right  
**Throws:** Right  
**College:** University of Texas  
**MLB Debut:** 04/07/2004

  
**(August 24 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Cincinnati Reds, in Cincinnati, top of the 4th, one out)**

  
"Welcome back to the Avengers Radio Network, Chris and Stephen here with you as we get back into the action happening in the top of the 4th. Carlos Contreras is in to pitch for Mat Latos, who went limping off the field a few minutes ago after having been struck by a line drive to his knee, and Contreras is already up to his neck in alligators with damage control. One out, men on second and third, and Tony Stark is up to bat. 

Tony takes ball one outside, 1-and-0 the count on Stark, who's picked right back up where he left off after missing the last eight games with that finger sprain. Stark swings the bat and misses, and it's 1-and-1 count, the infield still shading him to the left. Barton's is at third, Rogers is on a short leash at second, and here comes the pitch. Line drive, base hit, and that one finds the right field corner and rattles around. Barton and Rogers will score easily, and Stark stands in at first and the Avengers have drawn first blood, leading the Reds 2-0. Feels good to have Stark's bat back in the lineup..."

***

***

"Good game, good win," Fury calls as everyone starts to trickle back into the clubhouse from the showers.

"Good _sweep_ , you mean," Bruce says, making a motion like a broom with his hands.

"That, too, but remember –"

"There's still plenty of season left, yeah, we _know_ ," Clint interrupts, with an exaggerated sigh. 

Fury sweeps a finger across the room. "Don't forget it. Winning the division isn't the goal here."

"All I know is I'm buying my amazing fucking infield all of the drinks tonight for that triple play," Jim says, as Fury leaves the room.

"You should give Steve Tony's shares for almost fucking it up," Rhodey says, with a pointed glance Tony's way.

"You _did_ almost bobble the throw to Steve," Sam agrees.

"Stop busting my damn balls, alright, I made the play," Tony says. He's still dripping wet from the shower, but no one says anything about the small puddle forming around his feet. 

"Because you had Cap backing you up," Rhodey replies, grabbing his clothes from his locker. "Saved your ass."

Steve pauses in the middle of pulling on his briefs. "Not entirely sure that I'm comfortable with my name and Tony's ass being that close."

Tony makes a hmphing sound and lays a quick smack on his own behind. "This right here is prime real estate, Rogers. Everyone wants a piece of me."

Rhodey shakes his head. "Yeah no, not so much. You're alright for a white boy, but that's not sayin' a whole lot."

"I am amazing for a white boy. You know you want this," Tony says, cupping his dick and balls in one hand. His grin is filthy wide.

"You wish your dick had access to all this chocolate goodness," Rhodey retorts, not even looking up from buttoning his shirt.

"Yeah, I don't think Tony's ready for you," Bruce chimes in, with an apologetic shrug Tony's way.

"Blasphemous slander, Professor, I thought we were friends."

"Quit while you're behind, Tony," Sam calls out, voice muffled from under his t-shirt. "Otherwise you know Bruce'll make you sleep on the sofa."

"You're a sofa."

Rhodey laughs. "All that education and smarts you got and that's the best you can come up with, Tony? Man, you're slipping."

Tony grins, once again pointing downwards. "I already told you, I got something you can slip." 

"And I already told _you_ that you can't handle me."

Steve just shakes his head and snags his jeans. "You two need to get a room."

"You're a room," Tony says.

"Yeah, still not making any sense," Sam says.

"And your point is...?" Tony asks. 

"Sam, seriously, don't engage him," Bucky says as he wanders into the room, towel-drying his hair. He stops beside Steve. "Hey, so after press, can I snag you for a few?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Just thought I'd take you up on the offer to help me with my atrocious bunting."

"Yeah, it was pretty terrible on Friday," Steve says, and sidesteps out of Bucky's reach with a laugh. "Sure thing, down in the cages or on the field?"

"The cage is fine." He turns, shouts: "Hey, Coulson, I'm kidnapping Steve for some tee ball, can you send someone down to let us know when the bus is ready to roll out?"

"Will do. And Steve, good luck on that," Coulson says. "I've only been trying all season."

Steve laughs again. "Yeah, thanks."

***

Indoor batting cages all over the world are pretty much the same, and the one in Cincy's stadium is no different. Bucky slings his bat over his shoulder and watches Steve set up the tee and grab a bucket of baseballs. "It's almost like we're back at the rec center in Brooklyn."

"Equipment's a little better," Steve comments, and straightens, then stretches, his t-shirt riding up to show a thin strip of skin. Bucky snaps his gaze back up to Steve's face, and tries to concentrate. "So, what's the problem, are you not getting the bat down, is your stance jacked, what? Because your timing's pretty good on your actual swing, you're getting your foot down and your hands are where they should be."

"You been watching me at bat, Rogers?" Bucky asks, and winces at the flirtatious tone. 

Thankfully, Steve either hadn't heard it or, more likely, is just choosing to ignore it. "I watch everyone when they're at bat, you know that."

"You're gonna make one helluva hitting coach one day, I'll give you that."

"Maybe, but I'm hoping that's not for a long time," Steve replies, then gestures at Bucky. "C'mon, show me what you got."

Normally, Bucky would make a really lewd joke, but this is Steve, not one of the other guys, so he keeps it to himself. Instead, he just squares up, plants his feet and jabs at the ball on the tee. It pops straight up into the air, then goes trickling off along what would be foul ground if they were on the field.

"Fuck."

"Okay, stop, you're –" Steve steps up to him, then stops. "Do you, uh, mind –?"

"No." Bucky shakes his head for emphasis. There's a curious buzzing in his ears. Steve's so close Bucky can see the dark ring of cobalt around his irises. 

"You're rolling your wrists too much now, that's why you're popping up all the time." Steve grabs Bucky's wrists, the touch firm and so warm Bucky wonders if he's running a fever. "Keep 'em still and stiff, and deaden the ball."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Bucky licks dry lips, watches as Steve's gaze briefly tracks the movement.

"Okay, then, uh..." Steve abruptly drops his hands. "Try again."

Steve puts the ball back on the tee, crosses his arms and settles in, feet spread apart, in full-on teaching mode. Even back when Steve had been a scrawny, sickly kid, he'd adopted that stance every time he'd been on the field. Swagger for days, no matter what, that's Steven Grant Rogers to the bone.

Some things are exactly the same as Bucky remembers. Maybe too many things.

He squares up, goes through ten or so balls, and already, he can feel the difference in his hands. It's the minute details, the tiny adjustments, that mean the difference between throwing a strike or a ball, between rolling over a pitch or hitting a line drive for a base hit, between reading a fly ball correctly to snag it out of the air and getting caught flat-footed going the wrong direction. It's all repetition, timing and mechanics practiced over and over again until it's as ingrained as walking. And when any one tiny thing gets out of whack, it fucks up everything else.

It's why baseball, more than any other sport, is one of glorious failure. It's the only sport where getting a hit only three times out of ten means a fat contract and a long career in the bigs, and getting a hit four times out of ten makes you immortal and bound for Cooperstown. 

Bucky can't imagine ever wanting to play anything else.

"Better, man, much better," Steve says, nodding in approval. "I don't get how you got into such terrible habits. You used to be the best bunter I ever knew."

"Jammed my thumb late last season and I had to adjust how I gripped the ball, how I gripped the bat," Bucky says. "You know how it goes."

"Yeah, yeah, I do. Surprised you didn't work on it in the off-season or that Coulson hasn't been on you about it, though."

"I did. And he has. So has Pop. But you know me, sometimes it takes me a minute for things to stick."

"You stubborn? No way."

"Dick." Bucky laughs. "You were the stubborn one, not me."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure your family would disagree." Steve grins, wide and quick. "You know your sister still sends me a Christmas card every year?"

"Does she? Huh." Bucky shakes his head. "She always had a soft spot for you."

"Maybe, but you were family."

"So were you," Bucky says, and clasps Steve's shoulder. "And I am really sorry that...that our rift or whatever took them away from you."

"Thanks, Buck. That...well, that means a lot." Steve's looks is soft and so grateful that Bucky wants to promise him the moon.

"So..." Bucky forces himself to take a step back. "Throw me a high hard one?"

"I've got your high hard one right here," Steve replies, then immediately groans. "Uh, sorry, that was terrible."

"Yeah it was," Bucky replies, because it beats thinking about the mental image Steve's words had conjured. "Because I've never _ever_ heard that one before."

"I'm pretty sure you were the one who first said it to me, so I blame you."

"Is that what you've been doing in Boston all these years, stealing my old jokes and passing them off as your own?"

"Yes," Steve solemnly intones, and Jesus, but Bucky's missed the hell out of this. He's missed _Steve_ and that easy rapport that had defined their friendship pretty much from birth. 

Then Steve taps at the bat with his knuckles. "Now, come on, we don't have that much time before Coulson comes to collect us, so let's get a few more reps in."

Bucky gives him a quick salute. "Aye aye, Captain."

"You are _such_ a dick."

"I'm thrilled you remembered."


	7. Chapter 7

***

"Good evening everyone, and welcome to the best baseball show on television. I'm Greg Amsinger, joined by Dan Plesac and Harold Reynolds to my left. We have highlights from the Angels/Mariners coming up, Clayton Kershaw's record 19th win in Arizona, and we'll hear the latest from Joe Girardi on why he thinks the Yankees are, quote, a shoo-in to in their division, even though they're nine games out from the Orioles and six from the Blue Jays.

"But now, we go to New York and their _other_ team, the Avengers, hosting the Atlanta Braves. And we have history in the making, folks. It's the bottom of the 8th and the Avengers' ace, Bucky Barnes, has so far pitched eight shut-out, no-hit innings." 

"Why is that historic, Greg?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked, Dan. It's historic because the Braves' ace, Julio Teheran, is _also_ pitching a no-hitter. The last time two starting pitchers went this late into the game without allowing a hit was almost 80 years ago, in 1917, at the height of World War I. The only run so far has scored on a walk by Barnes and a throwing error by catcher Sam Wilson. The game has also featured what has to be considered one of the top plays of the year by shortstop Steve Rogers."

"Definitely. Harold and I are gonna break it down for you later on over in Studio 42, but plays like that are gonna make it difficult in the future for Gold Glove voters to choose between Rogers and Andrelton Simmons. Both shortstops are just phenomenal at their position."

"All of that is coming up. But first, in bonus coverage, we go to the Tower to catch the Braves/Avengers game in progress."

***

***

**(August 27 2014 – Atlanta Braves vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, bottom of the 8th, one out)**

  
A collective groan goes up from the Avengers' dugout and the crowd when Thor pops out to Braves' second baseman, Tommy LaStella. Sam sighs and puts his head on Steve's shoulder. 

"Bucky's gonna fucking kill me for that error," he groans.

"Game ain't over yet," Gabe says, then blows the world's biggest bubble. Clearly, Bucky's been teaching him all his tricks.

"Are we _watching_ the same game?" Sam asks.

"Julio's still a kid, man, he might make a mistake," Gabe says, and Steve knows he's trying to be encouraging, but the irony of _Gabe_ calling anyone a kid is so rich a person could retire from it.

"Not tonight," Sam predicts and looks down the bench to Bucky, who's sitting alone at the end, staring into space. Everyone's giving him a wide berth, trying not to disturb him or fuck with his mojo. They can all read the scoreboard. They know what's at stake.

Thor bounds into the dugout and tosses his batting helmet in disgust. "I shouldn't have swung. Can't believe he jammed me up like that."

"Yep," Clint agrees mildly. "But I thought it was a slider, too. It ain't like anyone else is teeing off on Julio right now."

"He's fucking _dealing_ tonight," Gabe says.

"They both are." It's the craziest fucking thing Steve's ever seen. "You realize he's still throwing in the upper-90s?"

"Unbelievable."

"When's the last time anything like this has happened?"

"1917, Reds vs. Cubs," Thor says, glancing back at Sam, and then sighing when Tony grounds one right at Freddie Freeman for the second out. "The Reds wound up winning it in ten, after both starting pitchers threw no-no's for nine."

"Should've figured you'd know," Steve chuckles. Dude's a walking baseball encyclopedia. He gives Bucky a quick glance. "How's he doing?"

"Locked in and ready to roll," Sam promptly replies. He doesn't glance at Bucky.

"Well, let's do our part," Thor says, standing when Bruce strikes out on three straight fastballs.

***

Sam calls time the second that Andrelton Simmons steps up to the bag, and jogs to the mound. Steve, who's more curious as far as Bucky's head space is concerned than anything else, joins them. He can always pretend he needs to know how Sam wants him to shift the rest of the infield.

"What's the word?" he asks, once he gets close enough.

Bucky shrugs, tosses the ball into his glove over and over. He's not even sweating, and it's a killer muggy night. Two outs away from a complete game no-hitter, man, and he looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"I don't think you should throw your change-up again," Sam murmurs, hiding the words behind his glove, lest Terry Pendleton, the Braves' first base coach, is watching.

"Why the hell not?" Bucky frowns. "Gotten him out with it twice tonight."

"Yeah, and it's a little flat now."

"Fuck you."

"I'm serious, brother. Just throw the heat, back him the fuck off the plate, _then_ let your infield do the work."

"We've got your back," Steve says, and risks a glancing touch along Bucky's shoulder blades.

The look Bucky gives him is indescribable. Then he smiles. "Be crazy to argue with you at this point after that great play you made earlier, huh?" 

Steve smiles back. "Pretty much." It feels like the sun's come out all over again. "Besides, Sam's right."

"Glad we're all in agreement of my awesome rightness." Sam takes a step back. "Let's end this."

"You bet," Steve replies, and gives Bucky a small salute before heading back to his spot.

After two fastballs are called for strikes, Andrelton grounds out to Steve on a breaking ball. Bucky tips his cap to Steve as he tosses the ball to Gabe for the out. Instantly, all Steve wants to do is hit a goddamn walk-off so he can get that look from Bucky again.

He is so incredibly fucked.

***

  
"Un. Fucking. Real," Steve states, the second that Thor flies out to B.J. Upton for the final out of the game. On the field, Evan Gattis rushes to the mound and picks Julio Teheran up in a bear hug while the rest of the Braves' players rush the mound as well. The crowd – all 40-thousand plus Avengers' strong – climb to their feet to give Teheran a well-deserved standing ovation.

Tonight's been, in all honesty, the best baseball game Steve's ever seen. It's just too bad his team - _Bucky_ \- had to be at the losing end of it.

"Helluva game," Bucky comments to his left. He doesn't sound like a man that just lost a no-hitter. In fact, if Steve had to put a label on it, he'd have to say that Bucky sounds positively pleased. And he _still_ looks like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"You're not mad?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I just went nine rounds with one of the best fucking pitchers in the game right now and neither one of us blinked. What's to be mad about?"

"We lost?"

"Win, lose, what's it matter? We were a part of _history_ , Steve. Isn't that why we wanted to start playing in the first place? To be mentioned alongside Mantle and Maris and Koufax?"

Steve nods. Zen-like calm from Bucky, who'd have thought. "You are just full of surprises these days."

"Yeah, well, you'd know all about that," Bucky says. 

"Guess I would." Steve stands. "C'mon, let's hit the showers. I'll buy you a drink tonight at Pedro's to celebrate." 

"Now you've got the right idea," Bucky grins, and stands. "But I know I owe you at least a couple for that play in the 6th."

***

  
The celebration – Bucky had insisted on calling it that, even though the final score should have suggested otherwise – has gone on well into the night. Even Fury has managed to crack a smile or two, but Steve thinks that's more to do with their waitress – a curvaceous blonde with a personality to match – flirting outrageously with him than out of any sense of pride in his team. The bar's still filled to capacity, but almost everyone's left them alone, aside from the standing ovation when they'd first walked in.

And, of course, the people that keep sending rounds their way. 

Steve glances at one end of the table, where Sam and Thor are busy toasting everything and everyone they can think of, laughter spilling out, bright and infectious. He's already called a cab for them. Tony and Clint have disappeared with two girls they'd met up at the bar, which is about par for the course. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if they wound up in a foursome or did some sort of swap. Bucky's holding court at his end, laughing and smiling at everyone that crosses his path.

For a brief moment, Steve wonders what might've happened between them had they met in different circumstances. If they hadn't grown up together, if they didn't have all of this history between them weighing them down, giving every word and every interaction way too much meaning.

"Penny," Fury says, nudging Steve's shoulder with his own.

"It's not worth that much," Steve replies, and tears himself away from studying Bucky. "Did you get her number yet?"

"Not yet." Fury leans his chair back on two legs. "Hopefully before I leave."

"You might want to simply ask her."

"Too easy," Fury grins, nice and relaxed. "I don't care too much for easy."

Steve knows exactly how he feels.

There's a slight commotion to his left, and when Steve turns, he's surprised to see Julio Teheran and Evan Gattis heading right for their table. Bucky straightens in his chair, looking slightly shell-shocked at the sight. It feels like the entire bar is holding its breath.

"Barnes," Teheran nods, when he gets to Bucky.

Bucky swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, before he replies. "Hey, Julio. El Oso, how's it hangin'?"

Evan holds up a hand in greeting, but doesn't say anything. "I just wanted to congratulate you on a great game tonight," Julio continues in halting, but perfect, English, ignoring the pointed silence around him. 

Bucky's smile could light a stadium. Steve blinks, stunned, at the sight. "Thanks, man," Bucky says. He stands, chair scraping loudly across the floor, and holds out a hand. "It was an honor going against you tonight."

"It was my honor as well." Julio shakes the offered hand, returning the smile. Evan just shakes his head and gives Sam a commiserating catcher-to-catcher look.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thank you, but...the team, they wanted to celebrate tonight at our hotel."

"Yeah, I get it," Bucky says. "Well, seriously, thanks for dropping by."

"Of course." Julio and Bucky finally drop hands. "I'll buy you a drink next time we play each other."

"Deal."

The silence lasts until Julio and Evan have left the building, then the buzzing starts. 

"That's fucking class right there, that’s what that is," Fury states. Steve completely agrees.

"I can't believe he just dropped by to say congratulations," Bucky says, still sounding shocked.

"Why wouldn't he?" Steve asks. "Said it yourself, man. Part of history."

"So I did." Then Bucky gives him another inscrutable look. "Up for a drive?"

Steve blinks. "What, me and you?"

"Yeah, me and you. C'mon, it'll be like old times, cruising around the neighborhood."

"Sure," he says, after a beat.

Bucky waits for Steve to stand, then holds his hand out to Fury. "Headed out."

"Good idea, taking a chaperone," Fury says. "Stay out of trouble."

"No promises," Bucky replies, with his own grin, and nods in Sam's direction. "Make sure he and Thor get poured into their cab."

"You know it."

The air outside is still muggy and oppressive, but Bucky takes a deep breath like he's taking it all in, rocks back on his heels as he tilts his face up to enjoy the faint breeze. The streetlamps crisscross along strong features, and Steve stares, memorizing the sight of sharp cheekbones, a stubborn jaw and absurdly long eyelashes. The urge to lean in and close the distance between them is so strong that he has to dig his nails into his palms to keep from moving.

"Where, uh, where to?" he asks, sounding choked even to his own ears.

Bucky blinks and opens his eyes, looking sleepy and tousled and so much like he does just after he's come that Steve loses what little breath he has entirely. "Doesn't matter," Bucky says, and Steve has to be imagining it, but he swears that Bucky's gaze drops ever so briefly to his lips.

Maintain, maintain, he silently repeats, and wonders how in the world he's supposed to keep his hands to himself. He heads to the small parking lot in back, Bucky right beside him, so close that Steve can almost feel the heat of his skin. He fumbles with his keys, then jumps, whirling around when Bucky crowds against him, pushes him against the side of his car. 

"Wha –?"

"The thing is," Bucky says, interrupting Steve, pressing against him in one solid line from thigh to chest, the frisson unbearable. "I _know_ this is a bad idea. It's always been a bad idea. But I don't care."

Before Steve can ask what the hell Bucky's talking about, Bucky's mouth is on his, tongue pushing past his open lips. 

It only takes Steve one stunned moment to respond. With a choked gasp ( _finally, thank fuck_ ), he pushes back, sucks greedily on Bucky's tongue, hands fisting Bucky's shirt in a death grip. Bucky tastes like the Jim Beam shots he'd been downing earlier, but Steve's head spins like he's the one who's been drinking. 

Bucky makes a soft noise in the back of his throat that sounds like approval, and the hum goes straight to Steve's cock. The need that slams through him threatens to send him to his knees. Bucky's lips are still so unbelievably soft, and are still a perfect fit against his. Everything is sharper, clearer, than even his most vivid memories.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you." Bucky breathes the words across Steve's lips. "About this. Me and you."

Steve feels like he should pinch himself. "Fuck, Bucky..."

"Tried so hard." Bucky rests his forehead against Steve's, threads his fingers in the belt loops of Steve's jeans to tug him close. Steve can feel how hard Bucky is, and it's insane how bad Steve wants to drop to his knees right now. 

"Want you so much," Steve says, and slants his mouth over Bucky's again, tasting the need, hot and vibrant, between them. He'd honestly thought he'd never have this again, never have Bucky here, open and welcome, in his arms.

It takes a minute for the sound of a ringing phone to penetrate the fog that's taken over his brain. By the time he's registered it, Bucky's pulled slightly away, lips still tantalizingly close, and has fished his cell phone out of his pocket.

"'Lo?" Bucky sounds beautifully breathless, and his smile at Steve is soft, apologetic. It's alright, Steve thinks. He can wait. Now that he's here and it's clear that Bucky wants this, he doesn't mind waiting at all.

He spends his time studying Bucky in the low light from the streetlamp, so he knows the second when Bucky's mood goes from easy to dark. Bucky's entire body shudders, then stops, face going perfectly blank. 

"No, it's cool," Bucky says to whoever's on the other end. "Seriously, I'm...yeah. Yeah, I will." His voice is carefully measured, almost robotic. "Yeah. I love you too. See you tomorrow."

He presses a button on the phone and stands there, not moving, head bowed. 

"Bucky?" Nothing, not even a twitch to show that he's heard his name. Steve tries again. "Bucky, hey, man. What is it?" He takes a chance, brushes his fingers across Bucky's hand.

Bucky's head snaps up and he stares at Steve like he's surprised to see him standing there.

"Hey." Steve steps closer, instinct guiding him. "What happened?"

"My, uh..." Bucky looks lost, impossibly young. "That was Becky."

"What happened?" Steve gently repeats. Whatever it is, however bad it is, Steve knows that bottling it up won't do Bucky any good at all. He's never been one to keep his emotions tamped down.

"My grandmother." The admission is a soft one. Bucky stares back at the sidewalk. "She, uh, she's been sick – cancer – for a long time. She, uh, well, apparently, she passed earlier tonight."

"Oh, man." Steve's heart breaks at the lost look in Bucky's eyes. "I'm so sorry, I know how close you two were."

"Y'know, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her," Bucky says, then clears his throat. "She took us to our first game, remember, gave me my first glove and ball. Man, she used to...you remember, right, how she used to play catch with us all the time."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Taught me how to flip the ball to second for a perfect double play." Steve smiles, hating the feeling of helplessness, hating that Bucky is suffering and there's nothing he can do to ease it. 

"I pitched a goddamn no-hitter and she was _dying_."

"She wouldn't have wanted you to be anywhere else," Steve says, as certain of that as he is his own name. He hasn't seen Gran Barnes in ten years, although he'd dutifully sent her a birthday card every year, but he still vividly remembers both her homemade cinnamon cookies and her love of the game. Remembers how proud she'd always been of him and Bucky for chasing their dream of playing professional ball. How much she'd always encouraged both of them and how much he'd relied on her sound advice as a kid.

"Yeah. Maybe. But it doesn't feel like enough."

"C'mon, let me take you to your mom's," Steve offers. It's far from adequate, but it's something he can give right now. He only wishes it was more. 

"No." Bucky shakes his head. "Becky said Mom didn't want me to know until tomorrow." His soft laugh is devoid of humor. "Didn't want to disturb my big night."

"Bucky..."

"No, man, I gotta respect that. I'll head over in the morning."

"Then let me take you home."

"Yeah." Bucky shudders, but nods. "Okay."

***

They're silent during the drive. Bucky stares out the window at the lights, but catches Steve stealing glances at him from the corner of his eye. It's nice, in a way. Comforting. He's with family. The silence continues when Steve pulls into the private garage at the bottom of Bucky's brownstone and they get out of the car. 

But the second Bucky opens the front door, Steve steps in, shutting it with his foot. Bucky turns, buries his face in Steve's neck, hot tears scalding his skin, and Steve drops his gym bag to pull Bucky close, his hands strong and steady. Another comfort Bucky will willingly take.

"It'll be okay, man," Steve whispers in the quiet space between them, and Bucky shakes his head. It _won't_ be okay, and they both know it. But Bucky doesn't let go. 

Steve's arms feel real, substantial, consoling. He smells of shampoo and soap, but Bucky can detect the faint scent of leather and wood and sweat underneath. Steve smells like baseball and home and sanity, and Bucky holds tight to it, to Steve. He can feel his grandmother in the room with them.

"She was there tonight, Cap," Bucky says, voice rough with tears and grief. "She carried the ball."

"I know she did." When Bucky lifts his head, he can barely make out Steve's watery smile through the blur. "She'd be so proud of you. She was always your biggest fan."

The kiss is light, easy, carries with it the taste of summers long gone. Bucky exhales, a small sound of surrender, and slants his head, deepening the kiss. His tears mingle with Steve's, the smear binding them tighter than chains. This is nothing like the desperation of earlier; Steve offers only comfort, and Bucky's grateful enough to take it.

"Stay," he says, surprising himself when the word comes out of his mouth. But he doesn't retract it.

Steve gives him a long look – long enough for Bucky to change his mind if he wants (which he doesn't) – then finally nods. "Okay."

***

_What the hell are you thinking? He's hurting, vulnerable..._

Steve stops himself before it gets too far. This isn't a night to second guess anything. Bucky needs him. It's enough for now. 

He resists the urge to look around, to indulge his curiosity about how Bucky lives these days, as Bucky leads him down a darkened hallway and into the equally dark bedroom. "Is this alright?" Bucky asks, still sounding young, unsure, a far cry from the confident man he is now.

"Yeah." Steve steps forward, lays his hand against Bucky's stubble-rough cheek. "Stop thinking."

He can feel, rather than see, Bucky's smile. "Yeah, alright."

They undress in silence, both of them keeping their boxers on. Bucky crawls into bed first, and curls around Steve when he slides in, holding on tight. Steve sinks back on the pillows, brings Bucky with him. "It's alright," he says again, wishing he could give Bucky more. When Steve's mom had passed his sophomore year of high school, Bucky'd been there for him every step of the way, hadn't let Steve out of his sight for weeks. And maybe this isn't exactly the same thing, but it's still close enough.

This isn't at all how he'd wanted to end his night tonight, but he knows that Bucky needs this more than anything else he could give. "Just lie back, let me do this for you."

Steve wets his hand and slides it south, trailing through the soft hairs on Bucky's stomach. He can hear Bucky's hitched breath, tastes the tears he won't shed. Not tonight, he tells himself. Not tonight.

"Fuck, Steve, you don't..."

"Shhh, please just let me do this for you," Steve whispers, and swallows Bucky's protest with a kiss. Bucky's still for a long moment – long enough that Steve starts to think maybe he'd read this wrong, that this was a bad idea – then Bucky cups a hand to the back of Steve's neck, relaxes into the kiss. Sighs and moans when Steve slides down his boxers and closes his hand over Bucky's cock, moves over him with steady, sure strokes.

For a little while, it's like they’re both back in high school again, giving in to attraction, fate, whatever you want to call it. Bucky's cock in his hand feels just as perfect as it has in the past, glides across his fingers like silk. Bucky's lips on his are light, demanding nothing, promising everything. Steve swallows each moan, continues to stroke Bucky through each shudder as Bucky comes, spilling over Steve's fingers. He brings Bucky down slowly, murmuring soothing nonsense, nuzzling Bucky's neck.

"Steve..." His name is a thick slur as Bucky struggles to stay awake.

"Shhh. Just sleep," Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky's brow. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay."

It's a long time before Steve can fall asleep himself.


	8. Chapter 8

***

"Good evening, everyone, Greg Amsinger and Eric Byrnes here, welcoming you to MLB Tonight on this Labor Day. The days are getting shorter, the nights getting cooler, but the pennant races are just starting to really heat up, and we've got all the action for you.

"We begin tonight with the Avengers, still behind the Nationals in the NL East by two, but up by five for first position in the Wild Card race. And they definitely had a wild one today in L.A., in a game that had a little bit of everything. Eric?"

"Like you said, a crazy day. We go to Dodger Stadium, Zach Greinke on the mound, normally a pretty solid pitcher – but then there's Steve Rogers to lead off the top of the 3rd. Greinke's slider catches the fat part of the plate, then the fat part of the bat as Rogers smashes the first pitch he sees into the Dodgers' bullpen for his 40th homer of the season. The next batter is Thor Odinson. Greinke's very _next_ pitch is just lasered into the outfield seats for another solo shot. Then Tony Stark steps up to the plate. First pitch, and, no, you're not seeing triple, that's a threepeat on three straight pitches. The last time three batters went deep on three straight was last September between the Padres and the Dodgers. Something about the sunshine in L.A., we guess."

"Fortunately for the Avengers, Bucky Barnes was more like his usual self. He had a wobbly first frame, giving up three runs, one on a balk, throwing 38 pitches in the first inning, but only threw 57 over his last six innings, giving up no runs, no walks, and striking out nine."

"And, if that's not enough drama, the game also featured, and you've really got to see this, three errors in _one_ inning, two of them by Gold-Glove winning center fielder Clint Barton on a single play that allowed a run to score. But the Avengers managed to battle it out and wind up on the victorious end of the day, 11-5, and the Avengers gain a game up in the Wild Card."

"I bet the Avengers are happy they got out of that one alive."

***

  
There are definite days and games that everyone would like to forget, and Bucky is just as glad this one is over. He knows all that really matters is the bottom line – the team had won, go team – but he'd been a disaster out on the mound, despite what the numbers show. His location had been for shit, his grip off, his head just had _not_ been in the game.

He blames Steve. Or, rather, how Steve's been acting since the night Bucky's grandmother had died. Bucky's not sure what he'd been expecting, but this isn't it. Steve's been loose and easy-going, like he hadn't held Bucky close and comforted him, like he hadn't stayed with Bucky all night. Like _nothing_ had happened between them. And he's been avoiding Bucky like the plague since he'd come back from his bereavement leave. It's enough to give a guy a complex.

He walks into the showers, mind still on Steve, cursing himself inwardly for obsessing over the situation. There've got to be better ways of spending his time. 

Sam and Clint are both already lathering up when Bucky steps under the spray and snags a bar of soap.

"Crazy game today," Clint remarks.

Bucky just grunts. "That's one word for it."

"Might've been better if your head had been in the right place," Sam offers, lifting an arm to rub his soap along his side.

It's uncomfortably close to what Bucky had already been thinking. He frowns, wondering how obvious he'd been out there. "Fuck off, we won, didn't we?"

"Wouldn't've been that close if you'd been throwing strikes that first inning."

"Sam, hey, hold on..."

Sam cuts off Clint's protest. "Seriously, brother. The next time you shake off my signs and give me that much off the plate crap to work with..."

Bucky rolls his eyes, cuts Sam off in mid-tirade. He is absolutely not in the mood for a lecture, especially over something he's already beating himself up over. "You'll do what? Because we both know you're not gonna throw the game or tip my pitches." 

"Asshole," Sam replies and flicks water in Bucky's direction. "Seriously, I can't believe you let a run score on a balk."

"I can't believe you made that throwing error in the fourth," Bucky snaps back, then looks at Sam, who's just gazing at him with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What?" 

"Maybe you should talk about it. You seeing a grief counselor or anything?"

Oh, fuck, man, _fuck_ Sam and his Pollyanna ways. The last thing Bucky wants to do is pour his heart out over his grandmother or Steve or anything else. "Maybe you should just mind your own business."

"Maybe you should stop being such a cocksucker."

"You're the catcher, Sam. Looking good on your knees is your job, not mine."

"Whoa, whoa. Guys, come on. What seems to be the problem?" Clint asks, looking back and forth between the both of them.

Bucky jerks his thumb at Sam. "He started it."

"Oh, that's real fucking mature, Barnes."

Bucky replies by sticking out his tongue. Sam just rolls his eyes and stomps out of the showers, still dripping wet, muttering to himself. Bucky feels a perverse sort of pleasure in having the last word. 

Clint gives him a disapproving look. "Why you gotta bust his balls like that?"

"Dude, he started in on me," Bucky shrugs, and reaches for the knobs to turn off his water.

"You two either need to get married or completely break up," Clint observes, shaking his head.

"Why the hell would we break up? I don't trust anyone else calling the game when I'm on the mound, no matter what I say to the contrary in his hearing," Bucky says, toweling himself off. "And I'm not getting married."

"Who'd have you?" Jim grins, stepping into the room, Steve on his heels. Bucky emphatically does not look down past Steve's shoulders.

"No one decent," he replies, then nods his head in Steve's general direction, still keeping his eyes averted. "Nice homer."

"Yeah, thanks." Bucky notices that Steve's not looking at him, either.

"I, uh, wanted to thank you. For the flowers you sent. Mom really appreciated the gesture."

"You thanked me last week. I'm just sorry I couldn't be there to pay my respects in person."

"I did?" Hell, everything that first few days after had been a damn haze. He'd be shocked if he remembered his own name.

"Yeah." Steve steps in, drops his voice so only Bucky can hear him. Bucky is uncomfortably aware of how close – and naked – Steve is. He suppresses the shiver, hopes that Steve doesn't notice.

"You mind telling me what's going on?" Steve murmurs.

"You haven't spoken to me since that night," Bucky replies, his voice just as low.

The look Steve gives him is puzzled. "I thought you'd want your space."

"Why'd you do it?"

To Steve's credit, he doesn't pretend to misunderstand the question. "I thought you needed it."

The confession – that Steve had only had sex with him out of obligation – pisses Bucky off enough that he sees red. He should have known better than to think that that night had meant anything. "Fuck you and your pity fuck. I don't need it."

"That's not –" 

But it's too late. Steve watches as Bucky spins away and stalks off. Steve thinks about going after him, then decides to hell with it. He's done with trying to figure out Bucky. He has a feeling it would take him another lifetime, and he's pretty much out of patience.

"What's up with you two?" Jim asks.

Steve shakes his head. "Who knows, Chief," he lies, "Bucky doesn't need a reason to be pissed. He never did, not even when we were kids."

"True enough," Jim laughs. "You up for going out with me and Tony tonight?"

Steve almost says no – going out with those two always means too much Jack Daniels and baseball groupies. But, it's got to be better than sitting in his hotel room and thinking about Bucky. He's done far too much of that since he'd come to the team. (He's done too much of that the last ten years.)

"Yeah, count me in."

Fuck it. Maybe all he needs is to get drunk and fuck Bucky out of his system.

***

He starts to regret his decision the second he's back in his hotel room, mostly-undressed and on top of a writhing, gorgeous brunette. Her eyes are half-closed, breasts spilling out of a lacy bra, manicured nails digging into Steve's shoulders. She's beautiful, desirable, more than willing, and not at all what Steve wants. 

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting up, wishing he hadn't said yes, that he was anywhere else, "I don't know if I can do this."

Her eyes open, then narrow. "You've got to be kidding." If possible, she looks even better angry. In this moment, she reminds Steve so much of Bucky that he almost reconsiders.

"Sorry," he repeats. "It's not you, I promise."

She rolls her eyes before rolling off the bed and snagging her dress. "Yeah, I've never heard that one before."

"It was a long game tonight. Guess I'm just not as up for company as I'd thought." Which is utter bullshit, but he's not stupid.

"It's alright." Her face softens and she leans down, brushes a quick kiss across his lips. "Raincheck?"

"Yeah, alright," he replies warily. He's never this lucky with women.

After the door closes behind her, his hand immediately curls around his still-hard cock. He jerks himself off, hard and fast, to the remembered sounds of Bucky moaning in his ear.

***

**(September 2 2014 – New York Avengers vs Los Angeles Dodgers, in Los Angeles, before the game)**

  
"It's that time, fellas," Sam announces, walking into the clubhouse and waving his iPad.

"My favorite time of the year," Clint says, with a grin.

"You get way too into it, I worry about you sometimes," Tony says.

"Man's gotta have a hobby."

"Take up knitting or golf," Bucky suggests, and ducks out of the way of the balled up pair of socks Clint throws his way.

Sam stops at Steve's locker. "Bridal party or cartoon characters?"

Steve finishes buttoning his jersey and looks up at Sam. "When are we doing it?"

"Probably tomorrow after the game. I mean, it's a cross-country flight." Sam grins, showing off brilliant white teeth. "I think that's humiliation enough."

"If I vote bridal, who would be the bride?"

"Montero. He's the tallest."

"Yeah, okay," Steve says. Makes as much sense as anything. "What's the vote so far?"

Sam consults his iPad. "10 on bridal party, 8 on cartoon characters, but I still need your vote and Thor's."

Total no-brainer. "Gotta go with bridal party. I mean, just to see Gabe in lavender and heels."

"I concur," Thor says from across the room, voice muffled as he pulls on his undershirt. 

"Works for me," Sam says. "I'll get someone on getting the outfits while we're playing tonight, get them delivered for tomorrow's game."

"I think we're letting the kids off easy, if you ask me," Tony says. "I had to dress up in an adult diapers and a pacifier."

Steve winces. "Naughty nurse outfit for me. But I looked damn good in the skirt, if I say so myself."

"Yeah, you got the legs for it," Sam says. "Team made me dress up as an Olympic swimmer. I swear that bathing suit they put me in was illegal in some states it was so tiny. Swimmers must either tape it or have teeny tiny dicks."

"Hulk Hogan," Thor says, with a grimace. "Those yellow boots were very uncomfortable." 

"Papa Smurf," Clint offers, and makes a face. "Whatever blue shit they smeared all over my chest stank like hell and didn't wash out for a week."

"Village People," Bucky says, and points at Tony. "I blame him."

"Hey, man, you looked damn good in the leather chaps."

"You were the policeman?" Steve guesses.

"Fake handlebar mustache and hat and everything," Bucky confirms. Which is the first actual sentence he's spoken to Steve since yesterday's outburst. Steve tries not to read too much into it. It's just teammates fucking around, no big deal.

Still, he knows his role, so he pastes on the smile. "Now that I would have paid to see."

"Oh, I've got tons of pics," Tony says, with a grin.

"Yeah, and you probably beat off to them every night, you kinky freak," Bucky replies.

"Hey, as the resident kinky freak on this team, I resent that," Clint says. "Tony's nowhere near my league."

Bruce groans. "Why would you challenge him like that?"

"It's on now, Bullseye," Tony states.

***

**(September 3 2014 – New York Avengers vs Los Angeles Dodgers, in Los Angeles, bottom of the 4th, none out)**

  
"We're in the bottom of the fourth, Avengers up 4-0, Dum Dum Dugan working on a shutout, despite already giving up four hits. Puig comes up to bat and there's strike one on the black of the outside corner. Dugan's curveball is really snapping tonight."

"I'll say. Here's the throw and Puig hits a line shot that hugs the line just fair and it's gonna rattle around in the right field corner for a second. Thor finally comes up with it and fires to Rhodes, but Puig is in safely at second with a double."

"Kid's got a motor on him. Adrian Gonzalez comes up to bat and he puts a charge in the first pitch he sees, a bullet to center field that bounces in front of Barton for a base hit. Puig turns on the jets as he rounds third, and Barton fires a missile to home plate, right on the money, and Puig is OUT at home!!! What a play by Barton!"

"That was some throw right there. And as far back as he was playing Gonzo, to have come in like that and thrown out a speedster like Puig, just goes to show that Barton's got three Gold Gloves for a reason. That throw could not have _been_ more perfect."

"Matt Kemp strides up to the plate, and they put the shift on him. Jones, Rhodes and Rogers are all shaded to the right, and it's Stark against the world on the left side of the field. Dugan gets his sign and that's a slider thrown in the dirt that almost gets by Wilson, but he keeps it in front of him, and Gonzalez stays where he is at first."

"Wilson's blocking skills are so underrated, but that's what happens when you play in the same league as Yady Molina. Dugan throws and Kemp pops it up on the infield grass. Infield fly rule in effect as Rhodes camps out under the ball and there's out number two."

"Dugan made Matt look foolish on that pitch. And here's Hanley Ramirez, who's already got one hit tonight, and Dugan quickly falls behind with a fastball up and in. 1-and-0 the count on Hanley. Wilson flashes the sign, Dugan nods and fires and that's a grounder right to Rogers, which is, as we all know, where ground balls go to die. He flips to Jones and gets the out. The Dodgers strand one as we head to the top of the 5th, the Avengers still leading 4-0..."

***


	9. Chapter 9

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to ESPN's Baseball Tonight presented by Degree. Karl Ravech here with Barry Larkin. We join you after a bruising brawl of a game in the New York between the Avengers and Marlins, where tempers flared, punches were thrown, and players literally limped off the field. And did we mention seven players getting ejected, including both starting pitchers?"

"Brawl is definitely the right word, Karl. Mike Redmond's always been a fiery sort of manager, so you expect drama every day the Fish are out there, but Nick Fury of the Avengers is usually a little more laid-back."

"Well, I tell you what, he didn't show it tonight. Take a look at how it all got started, with of all things, a slide into second base."

***

**(September 6 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Florida Marlins, in Miami, top of the 6th, one out)**

  
"We're in the top of the sixth inning, all tied at two each, one man on, one man out for the big hammer, Thor Odinson, who steps up to the plate. Thor's is 0-for-1 tonight against Jarred Cosart, grounding out weakly to first back in the second inning and a walk in the fourth. Steve Rogers is on a short leash at first and Tony Stark waits on deck.

"Cosart fires and delivers a fastball over the outside corner, 0-and-1. Jarred works quickly out of the stretch and when he's got good command of all his pitches, like tonight, he keeps the game moving at his pace.

"Another look back to keep Rogers honest, and the next pitch is high and tight, just missing clipping Thor in the jaw. Odinson jumps back and glares at the mound, making his displeasure known." 

"As we all know, every great pitcher's got both a mean streak and a possessive streak, and tonight, we're got two of the best in the game in Cosart and Barnes. That was just a little warning to Thor not to crowd the plate."

"The next pitch is up and away, 2-and-1 the count, Cosart's changeup is just missing the outside corner. Thor squares up and strokes the next pitch along the third base line, and that's a fair ball!!! Christian Yelich comes up with it cleanly and throws a bullet back to the infield, showing off that good arm. Steve makes it to third, he'll put the brakes on there. Thor's on his way to second and he slides in hard, knocking Donovan Solano clean off his feet. The ball comes loose and Steve alertly races home – he'll make it without a throw.

"Thor stands, brushing himself off, and – oh, man, this is gonna get ugly – Donovan charges headfirst into Thor, knocking him down. Rogers races out to the bag to come to Thor's aid, and Cosart is also wading in... And now the benches are clearing, folks. Brace yourselves, because I wouldn't be surprised if we get a few ejections out of this one."

***

Bucky's been part of a bench-clearing brawl a time or two since he's been in the bigs – hell, he plays for the Avengers, it's hard _not_ to get into fights when just about every team in the National League wants a piece of you just because you have New York in your name. But in all his time playing the game, he's never witnessed anything as bizarre as what had just happened on the field tonight. It's not even like Thor had slid in dirty or had been trying to break up a double play or jawing off to Solano in the process. Personally, Bucky thinks it's all Solano's fault. Kid's a wicked player, but gets way too lit up about stupid things.

And then there's Steve, the silly sonofabitch, charging in like some sort of knight like he used to when they were kids, and getting knocked on his ass for his trouble. Bucky can admit, if only to himself, that's the real reason he'd run out to the field with murder in his eyes. Steve may be a pain in the ass and maybe he's doing his best to drive Bucky into an early grave with all of the mixed signals he's been throwing Bucky's way, but Steve is _his_ and no one else gets to lay a hand on him. If anyone's going to beat the hell out of the cocksucker, it's going to damn well be Bucky.

Clearly, he's still harboring some weird latent come-to-the-rescue tendencies where Steve's concerned, because it's just like back in grade school and middle school and high school, when Steve had waded into way too many fights with way too many bullies and Bucky'd had to rescue his dumb ass. 

Fury throws off his hat when he comes into the clubhouse, having been ejected right along with Bucky. It bounces harmlessly off a bench. "Motherfucking dirty pool is what that was."

"Yep," Bucky agrees.

"And you were no better. What the hell were you thinking, charging out like that?"

"It was my game tonight. I gotta protect my players."

"That's the dumbest damn thing I've ever heard. Best thing you can do for your team is be out there on the mound." Fury jabs a finger at him when Bucky starts to speak. "I know why you did it, but next time, let me handle it. If I get thrown out, so be it. But I need you out there doing your job. We're way too close to the division title to fuck it up now."

"I knew what I was doing," Bucky argues, even though he really hadn't. "Our bullpen's better than theirs."

Fury snorts. "It's not _that_ much better. How's your arm?"

"It's fine."

"You sure?" Fury looks at the angry-looking scratches on Bucky's left forearm.

"I'm sure. You think I'm dumb enough to actually injure my pitching hand?" Bucky asks, exasperated. "But if it makes you happy, I'll get it checked out when the docs're looking at Steve."

"Alright, fine." Fury steps aside. "I'll be with Thor and Bruce if you need me."

"I'll call," Bucky promises, and heads out to catch a cab to the hospital. He has no idea why he feels the deep need to run off after Steve, but he's not going to question it, either.

***

  
"How's he doing?" Bucky says, when he gets to the waiting room and finds Coulson slumped uncomfortably in one of the bright yellow chairs.

"He'll live," Coulson says. "Surprised to find you here checking on him. Thought you two hated each other again."

"I wouldn't say _hate_." Bucky's got no idea what to call it, but hate's nowhere near the agenda. "Besides, he's still a teammate."

"He'll be fine. Stitched his head up, but it doesn't look like he's gonna have to go on the DL. Passed all the concussion protocols, so he's probably only looking at a couple of games." Coulson shakes his head. "Damned lucky, if you ask me. It could have been a lot worse. How's your arm?"

"Fine." Bucky holds it up, lets Coulson see the white bandage over the scratches. "All disinfected and everything."

"Good. We'll definitely need you on your game if Steve's out of the lineup for a few days."

"I know my job," he says, but the retort is more out of habit than annoyance. "Besides, I think we'll all be taking a couple of days suspension for this. Steve, for sure."

Stubborn idiot.

"Probably," Coulson nods. "Steve's in a private room at the end of the hall if you wanted to pop in, say hi."

"Thanks." Then Bucky stops. "Why're you sticking around?"

"To give Steve a lift back to the hotel and get him settled."

"I got it," Bucky says, surprising himself.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, trust me, this is not my first rodeo in springing Steve out of the hospital. I know the drill," Bucky says. "Go on, get some sleep."

He walks down the hallway to the small room at the end, and pushes the door, wincing when the hinges squeak. Steve's lying on top of the covers on the bed, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, his arm thrown across his eyes. He looks dead asleep. Bucky freezes in place, wondering if he should back out and leave Steve to his rest.

"I can hear you, you know, Bucky," Steve says, without moving his arm. "Stealth has never been your thing."

"I think I'm a little tall for stealth," Bucky replies, and drags a chair next to the bed. He doesn't even question how Steve had known it was him and not Coulson. Without waiting for permission, he grabs Steve's good hand and squeezes. "I'm sorry, man."

Steve nods, then lowers his arm, and opens his eyes. They look puffy, bloodshot, raw. And the white of the bandage on his forehead is practically a beacon against his skin. "I feel like shit."

"Yeah, well, you look like shit. You're lucky you've got a hard head. And you're lucky you're already injured. Idiot."

The corners of Steve's mouth pull down into a frown. "What?"

"Dude, don't ever do something that stupid again. Payback is _my_ job, no matter who's jawing off at who. Solano was coming up to bat in the bottom of the inning, I'd have given him the brushback, message delivered."

Steve looks like he wants to argue, but then he winces and gives a small nod. "You're right."

"Damn right I am," Bucky states, glad Steve's seen the error of his ways. "Besides, I can't go wading in after you like I did when we were kids. My job these days is taking care of the team, not just taking care of you."

"Your job, huh?" Steve sounds amused. "Anyone ever tell you you're the cockiest motherfucker ever?"

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment."

"You've been cocky since before pre-school," Steve smiles. "Did we win?"

"No clue," Bucky replies, honestly. "Haven't even checked the score since we all got ejected."

"I'm touched you care."

"Asshole," Bucky says, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Docs and Coulson say you can scoot whenever. Need a ride to the hotel?"

"Sure, if you're offering." Steve gives Bucky a level look. "Sure you wanna do that?"

"It's just a ride, man. Not like I'm proposing." Even though Bucky shivers inwardly at how serious Steve looks. "Is there anything we need to get or any prescriptions or any instructions from the doc?"

"Just the basic concussion BS, nothing new," Steve says. "I need to be woken up every couple of hours and asked all the usual questions."

"You bunking down with anyone this trip?"

"Yeah, Thor, but Jane flew in with the kid, so they got their own room for the night. But it's cool, I can get Coul–"

"I'll stay with you," Bucky volunteers, surprising himself yet again. What the fuck is he thinking? He hasn't been alone with Steve since... Well, it doesn't matter. Steve's a teammate and he's injured, it's in Bucky's best interest to make sure he's good to go.

Those puffy eyes widen slightly. "Seriously, Buck –"

"Don't argue with me or I'll leave you here to rot."

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, and slowly sits up. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

The cab ride to the hotel is short and quiet. There are a handful of fans in the lobby and Steve, shuffling in like an old man, bandage on his head and everything, still stops to sign a few baseball cards and balls, which means that Bucky's also stuck on autograph duty. Not that he minds normally – he loves the fans – but he's more focused on getting Steve horizontal...

On second thought, maybe they _could_ mingle a little more with the fans and talk shop and tonight's game. Which they'd wound up winning, even as short-handed as they'd been after all of the ejections. 

But finally Bucky's able to get Steve into his hotel room and shuts and locks the door behind them. At least there are two beds, not that Bucky thinks he's going to get much in the way of sleep. "How's the head?"

"Throbs a little, but I've had worse," Steve says, and gingerly sits on the edge of one of the beds and starts pulling off his t-shirt. Bucky looks at everything in the room except Steve.

"You need any aspirin or anything?"

"Maybe in a bit, but right now, I just want to pass out for awhile."

Bucky's gaze snaps back to Steve, who's nestled under the covers now, sheet and blanket pulled up to his armpits and, thankfully, hiding his body. "Pass out as in sleep or pass out as in we need to head back to the hospital?"

"The first one," Steve says, then yawns and closes his eyes. "Remember, wake me up..."

"Yeah, I know, just get some sleep." One of them should, Bucky thinks, then strips down to his boxers and crawls into the other bed, setting his phone's alarm for two hours.

***

Bucky wakes up to soft lips trailing along his jaw and smooth hands sliding down his chest, and blinks groggy eyes open to see Steve hovering over him, strands of blond hair falling in his face.

"Steve...?" he rasps, sleep making his voice rough. "Everything, uh...?" He gasps as one of Steve's hands worms under his boxers to find his cock and gently squeezes. 

"Shut up," Steve replies, with more affection than heat in his tone. His next kiss is soft, slow, lips rubbing against Bucky's in a light caress. 

"Steve, what're you doing...?" Just trying to string together words is a struggle. Steve's a warm, hard weight on top of him, and his lips are wrecking every bit of control Bucky's got.

Steve pulls back just enough so Bucky can see the shadowed planes of his face. " _Seriously_?" he asks, and grinds down to drive the point home.

Right, stupid question. Bucky's hands spasm on Steve's hips as Steve scrapes his teeth along Bucky's shoulder. "You sure we should...your head..."

"Would feel a lot better if you'd stop asking so many dumb questions," Steve replies, and takes Bucky's mouth again in a kiss that obliterates any half-hearted objections Bucky might have had.

Bucky surrenders to the kiss, mouth opening on a sigh, and that seems to be all the invitation Steve needs to continue. He rolls onto his back and pulls Bucky to lie partially on top of him, cups the back of Bucky's neck, and it's so damn easy for Bucky to slide into this, to give back in to the chemistry that’s been there since high school, maybe even before then. 

"Really wish I could fuck you right now..." Steve murmurs, as those strong hands glide along Bucky's back, the firm touch a brand Bucky has worn for years. He never ever wants Steve to stop touching him.

" _Jesus_ fuck, Steve..." He wants that, more than anything, but even in the fervor of the pleasurable haze that's taken over his brain, he knows that's a terrible idea. "You – we shouldn't..."

"Yeah, I know. Too much movement." Steve licks a slow, silky-smooth path up the side of Bucky's neck. "Handjob?"

Bucky shivers, and nods so forcefully it feels like he might snap something. "Hell yes."

Steve fumbles on the bedside table, then presses one of the complimentary bottles of lotion into Bucky's hand. "Nice and slow," he says, and even in the dim glow of the alarm clock, his eyes are so blue it hurts to look at them.

"Nice and slow," Bucky repeats, and flips open the cap. Their mouths fit together in kiss after languorous kiss as they both kick off their boxers and slot back together, everything blurred and slow and so perfect that Bucky never wants it to end. He wraps a slick hand around Steve's cock, glides up, and doesn't even try to bite back the moan when Steve returns the favor, his fingers also slick, and so hot Bucky can feel them scorch his skin. 

He keeps his promise, takes it nice and slow, Steve following his lead. The air is filled with moans and sighs and every kiss is better than the last. Every slide of Steve's hand takes him deeper, then deeper still. Nothing – not the world, not the game, not the future – matters outside this small cocoon of heat and desire. Nothing matters except the feel of Steve's body under his, muscled and a perfect fit against his own. Nothing matters except the harsh sound of Steve's breath mingling with his own, both of them falling into sync with each other with every twist and slide of their fingers. 

No one else in Bucky's life has ever given him this, has ever taken him so completely apart with nothing more than a touch. Need, so much of it Bucky's drowning, swamps every other emotion, and Bucky surrenders to that as well. Lets himself get pulled under by nothing more than the rough pads of Steve's fingers and the slick rasp of his tongue, and when he comes, it's with Steve's name on his lips.

***

**(September 7 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Florida Marlins, in Miami, morning of the game)**

  
Bucky surfaces slowly, sleep-heavy limbs slow to move, and when he finally blinks bleary eyes open, the first sight he sees is the wheat-blond of Steve's hair on the other pillow.

_Fuck._ He is never ever going to learn.

Christ, it really is senior year and prom night and last year after the All-Star game and last month after his grandmother died all over again. History repeating itself in an endless loop that he can't seem to break. Only this time, Bucky can't run away and hope everything will blow over. Steve's on his team now, in his clubhouse, invading his space with that bashful smile and those flashing baby blues and that perfect athlete's body that seems like it's been fashioned by the baseball gods themselves. There's no escaping him, not this time.

He has no idea how he's going to look Steve in the eyes. How he's going to face himself in the mirror. He's come too far, sacrificed too much, to fuck up now, but Steve...it's like he can't help himself where Steve is concerned.

And maybe he is a coward and maybe Steve's always been the stronger one, but Bucky can't do this. He gets dressed as quietly as he can and slips out the door, forces himself not to look back at the man sprawled peacefully on the bed. Maybe he can't avoid Steve's physical presence, but he knows how to keep barriers between them, how to keep Steve from getting too close.

He's lived the last ten years of his life without Steve Rogers. He can survive until the off-season, then decide what to do from there.


	10. Chapter 10

**(September 8 2014 – Colorado Rockies vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, bottom of the 9th, none out)**

  


***

**(September 9 2014 – Colorado Rockies vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 10 2014 – Colorado Rockies vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 11 2014 – Washington Nationals vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


  
**ESPN:** Bottom of the ninth, two out, and your pitcher is at second base, and Bucky's not exactly known for his speed on the base paths. What were you thinking there?

 **SR:** Just up there looking for something to drive into the gap, to be honest. They'd been putting the shift on me all night, and I studied the charts, saw that Hawkins likes to throw the cutter on the first pitch a lot, so I went up there looking for it. And thankfully, I was able to put good wood on it, drive Bucky in for the win.

 **NYTimes:** Can you elaborate on what you felt when you knew you had the hit and the walk-off? How special was this moment for you?

 **SR:** Oh my God, it was absolutely magical. To have a walk-off in New York on September 11th, I mean, that's what you dream about, you know?

 **NYDailyNews:** How special was it to have your hit drive in childhood friend Bucky Barnes for the winning run?"

 **SR:** Oh man, that's...he pitched one helluva game last night. He's on another level right now. I'm just happy we got him the win. And happy that I was able to come back into the lineup and contribute, keep the winning streak going.

***

**(September 12 2014 – Washington Nationals vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 13 2014 – Washington Nationals vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, top of the 9th, none out)**

  
"Welcome to beautiful Brooklyn on this Saturday evening on the Avengers Radio Network. Chris and Stephen with you as we go to the top of the ninth, with Jim Morita trying to go the distance against the Washington Nationals. He'll be facing Ian Desmond, Bryce Harper and Asdrubel Cabrera, and if any of them get on, Jose Lobaton will come up to bat."

"Morita gets the sign from Wilson, but he doesn't seem to like what Wilson is calling, so they go through the progressions again. Desmond, tired of waiting, steps out of the box and adjusts his batting gloves. Finally, Morita seems to get a sign he likes, and he comes back up to the rubber. Here comes the pitch. Desmond hits a bullet to towards the gap, and it takes a tricky hop, but Rogers comes up with it and flips over to Jones for the out. One down for Bryce Harper, who's hitless tonight, with one walk and two strikeouts."

"Morita wastes no time going after him, firing a split-finger that dies across the plate. Harper had no chance at that one. 0-and-1 the count on Harper. The next pitch is a cutter away, and Harper swings and misses for strike two."

"Morita has really nasty-pitched Harper all night. I'm not used to seeing Bryce look that foolish at the plate."

"Morita's always pitched pretty well against Harper. And he pulls the string on the next pitch and Harper gets sent down on three straight strikes on the outside corner."

"It's down to Asdrubal Cabrera and he jabs at the first pitch he sees. It's a soft liner caught by Rhodey and the Avengers winning streak continues for a sixth straight game!! Final score Nationals 3, Avengers 5, with Jim Morita getting the win and Doug Fister getting the loss. The Avengers will go for the four game sweep tomorrow night on Sunday Night Baseball." 

***

**(September 14 2014 – Washington Nationals vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 15 2014 – Florida Marlins vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 16 2014 – Florida Marlins vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


**Barnes Handcuffs Marlins to Help Avengers Win Ninth Straight Game**

_James "Bucky" Barnes scattered three hits in eight innings of work, the Avengers hitters smothered Jacob Turner with four first-inning runs on a pair of homers, and that about covered it during a 5-0 shutout against the Marlins that extended the Avengers winning streak to season-high 9 games._

_Bruce Banner, Tony Stark and Sam Wilson all homered in the first three innings for the Avengers, whose red-hot winning streak is now three games shy of equaling a 12-game winning streak in April-May 2000, the longest for the Avengers since 1917. The all-time franchise record is a 16-game winning streak set all the way back in 1896._

_The Avengers haven't lost a game since a benches clearing brawl on September 6th in Miami during the last Avengers/Marlins series, and Barnes made sure it wouldn't end on his watch in one of his more dominating starts in a season filled with brilliant pitching performances, including a no-hitter on August 27th._

_The winning streak hasn't put any undue pressure on the Avengers, according to Barnes._

_"We come in every day just looking to win ballgames and win the division," he said. "We're a loose group, and we've got bigger sights than a simple streak. We're here to win a World Series."_

***

**(September 17 2014 – Florida Marlins vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn)**

  


***

**(September 19 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Atlanta Braves, in Atlanta)**

  


  
"Well, it had to end sometime," Thor says, with a philosophical shrug, as the Braves' closer, Craig Kimbrel, gets the final out on Tony and Turner Field erupts with celebratory fireworks.

"Does this mean we can say something to them now?" Bruce asks, with a quick glance Bucky and Steve's way. "This not speaking to each other thing is getting ridiculous."

"I concur," Thor agrees. "They were getting on so well, and now..."

"Nah, man, it's their thing," Sam says. "They're big boys and they don't need our help to sort out their shit."

"And, honestly, I don't care if they never talk to each other again as long as we're the last team standing at the end of the day," Clint says, and claps Thor on the back. "Now let's go home and come back out here tomorrow and start another streak and win this fucking division already."

"A-fucking-men," Sam intones.

***

**(September 22 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Atlanta Braves, in Atlanta)**

  


  
"Good evening, and welcome to Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN presented by Taco Bell, and to Atlanta, Georgia, where the red hot New York Avengers are looking to take the series win against the floundering Atlanta Braves and get their magic number to clinch the division down to two. I'm Dan Schulman, and I'm joined on my left by John Kruk and Curt Schilling, and John, I'm gonna start with you. Just how far can this Avengers team go in the post-season?"

"Dan, the sky is the limit with these guys. I mean, they are firing on _all_ cylinders right now. They do the little things, they battle and grind and play the whole nine innings. They do the big things with guys that can hit for power and a starting rotation that's got the right mix of power arms and savvy vets who can put the ball wherever they want it, and it's anchored by the left arm of their ace, Bucky Barnes. And while their outfield defense has been outstanding all season, ever since they got Steve Rogers in that blockbuster trade, that infield has been in lockdown mode."

"It's too bad that Rogers won't qualify for a National League MVP since he was traded between leagues during the season, because he's been the real difference maker to this team. Curt, you played with Steve in Boston in his rookie year on the 2007 World Championship team. What makes him so special?"

"Oh man, Dan, you know I've got a crush on this kid. I'm his biggest fan, and not just of the way he comports himself on the field, but for the standup way he conducts himself off the field as well. But he's got such great hands, both with the glove and with the bat, and he's got speed, he's got great baseball knowledge, he's just the total package. I always felt comfortable out there on the mound knowing he was anchoring the infield. I knew nothing was going to get by him on the left side. And it always seemed like he was coming up with big hit after big hit for us in '07. His Rookie of the Year award that year was so well earned."

"Agreed, Curt, and I'll tell you something else, the Red Sox are going to regret that trade. Yeah, they got a haul for him, but he was already on track for the Hall of Fame during his first seven years in the bigs. Two World Series rings, two MVPs, five Gold Gloves, and a seven-time All-Star? I mean, come on, those are video game numbers. But his past 2-½ months here in an Avengers uniform have been just as outstanding. And he _just_ turned 27. He could play another ten or eleven or even twelve years easily – who knows how high his ceiling could go?"

"No doubt reuniting with childhood friend Bucky Barnes had a lot to do with the inspired baseball both of them have been playing. Last night, Barnes was flat-out filthy, with fourteen strikeouts and allowing only two hits in eight innings of work, adding to the conversation to win his third Cy Young. And tonight, Tim 'Dum Dum' Dugan is going after win number fifteen and will try to get them even closer to the pennant and October baseball."

"If they keep up this level of play, they're going to be hard to beat in the post-season. Rogers could be looking at ring number three."


	11. Chapter 11

**(September 24 2014 – New York Avengers vs. Washington Nationals, in D.C., bottom of the 17th, none out)**

  


***

"Attention, now pitching for the New York Avengers and batting ninth, number 17, Bucky Barnes!"

Steve snaps to attention and glances at the bullpen gate, where, sure enough, Bucky is jogging out onto the field. "What the fuck?" he mutters out loud.

Rhodey comes up next to him, and crosses his arms across his chest. "Fury's not fucking around, I guess."

"Guess not," Steve says. "But screw it, I know how he feels. I'm not leaving this field until we win this damn game."

"The way our luck's going, we might be here all night," Rhodey replies, just as Bucky gets to the mound and starts with his warm-up tosses. Steve gives himself a moment to look. 

Seventeen days since that night at his hotel room. Seventeen days since he'd had Bucky in his arms, in his bed, since he'd gotten an even semi-decent night's sleep. Seventeen days, and his life is falling apart, and it doesn't even matter, because the team is on a tear the likes of which he hasn't been a part of since his rookie year with the Red Sox in 2007. There's that kind of magic in the air. And he can't appreciate any of it. Not the wins, not the streak, not even the possibility of clinching the NL East if they could just score one lousy fucking run tonight.

He can't keep doing this to himself. He's had ten years to get over Bucky Barnes, and he'd done it, too, he'd managed to carve out a damn good life in Boston and had a bunch of players he loved around him on the Red Sox and he'd been able to just go out there and _play_. But ever since he'd put on the Avengers black and blue, it's been just like high school all over again. All of that churning emotion roiling inside him feels just the same as it had when he'd been a teenager. It's not healthy.

As soon as the season ends, he's sitting down with his agent and Fury and the Colonel and Romanoff, and he's putting everything on the line and begging them to trade him. He's never backed down from any adversity, from any challenge, but he can't keep playing on the same team as Bucky Barnes.

But, for now, he's got a job to do. And that job is to win this game, no matter how long it takes.

"Over or under of this game ending before 1am," Stark calls, lobbing a ball Steve's way.

He snags it out of the air, then throws it around the horn. "I dunno, depends on Buck, I guess."

"Well, he _looks_ locked in."

Yeah, Steve thinks, looking at Bucky again. He does.

***

Bucky's done some unusual things under Fury's management, but pitching on two days rest is one of the weirdest. But Fury's running out of bodies to put on the mound, and at least it's Bucky's bullpen/throwing day.

But after pitching three straight sliders that all looked like they'd painted the outside corner and _not_ getting the calls, he starts to feel his temper fray around the edges.

"Hey, Joe, you gotta give me something to work with," he calls, walking towards home plate and umpire 'Cowboy' Joe West. "You can't take both sides away from me, man, I'm getting squeezed."

"You done?" Joe asks, as Sam pops up from his crouch and starts making slashing noises at his throat. The crowd – the few remaining faithful that are left after seventeen innings – start lustily booing.

"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. I mean, fuck, no wonder no one's scored a damn run in this game if you're not giving them –"

"He's done," Sam interrupts, and starts backing Bucky towards the mound. "Do you _want_ to get thrown out?" he hisses. "You just fucking got _in_ this game." 

"No, I just want the outside corner."

"Then stop nibbling and throw it there. Jesus," Sam adds. "I've been crouched down for the past _seventeen_ innings, alright, I'm not letting that go to waste because you're still in the Worst Mood Ever."

"I'm not –"

"Dude, you've been in a bad mood since that game in Miami. Fuck, who knew a $20,000 fine would piss you off so much."

Just then, Happy jogs out from the dugout to the mound and gives them both a puzzled look. "What's going on, guys?"

"What's going on is I'm getting fucking squeezed by Cowboy out there and I'm fucking pissed off about it," Bucky says, scuffing at the mound dirt with his foot.

"Well, let me worry about arguing with him. You just throw."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky says, and takes a deep breath. Tries to find his center. 

He gets the sign from Sam and throws and LaRoche drills it to deep center field. Bucky winces, prays for the wind to knock it down, and stares in disbelief as Thor goes crashing into the padding and comes up with the ball. 

"Wow." He tips his cap Thor's way, gets a thumbs up in return, and snags the ball when it's tossed back his way. 

"Hey, Buck, let's shut 'em down, alright!" Tony yells. "We got your back."

"Thanks," he says, and gets into his stance. Time to get to work.

***

"Yo, Steve," Sam says, as Steve grabs his bat and helmet and starts to head up the dugout steps. "I will straight up pay you ten grand if you hit one out of the park."

"Screw that, I'll set you up with one of my ex-girlfriends," Tony says. "Veronica will _love_ you." 

"Not interested in your leftovers, Tony," Steve says with a grin, but it dies the second his gaze locks with Bucky. Bucky, who's looking _through_ him like he doesn't even see him. 

_Fuck_ this. He stalks up to home plate, looking for a pitch to drive. He's ready to get the hell off the field and head to his hotel room.

***

 

***

 

The mood in the clubhouse is giddy, bordering on jubilant, with high fives and complicated handshakes all around and Clint going from locker to locker doling out hugs and slaps on the back like it's Christmas and he's Santa. Bucky good-naturedly accepts his, even though he's too exhausted to care much about the final score. He can't believe how _tired_ he is and he'd only been out there for two innings of work. He's just happy the game is over.

"So, Cap, you taking the ten grand or the date?" Tony asks, as he pulls on his jeans.

"Ask me tomorrow. Right now, I just want my bed." Steve throws his gym bag over his shoulder, and waves at everyone in the room. "Everyone get some rest. We have a division crown to take tomorrow."

There's a chorus of "Nite, Cap!", then Steve stops at Bucky's locker. "Can I have a quick word?"

Bucky wants to say no, but he doesn't want to draw attention to the either one of them, so he just nods and follows Steve into the hallway. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just..." Steve shrugs and rubs a hand over his eyes. "Look, I'm just...I'm tired, alright, and a little bit loopy right now, so maybe this won't even make any sense, but I'm sorry."

Bucky frowns. "Sorry for what?"

"That's just it, Buck, I don't _know_ why I am," Steve replies, and Bucky's not sure he's ever heard Steve sound so serious. So defeated. A shiver starts to run down his spine. "But it's there and I mean it and I just..." Steve blows out a quick breath. "I just wanted you to know that I get it. And that I won't...I _get_ what you meant that day. I'm officially giving up."

What day? What the fuck is Steve talking about?

"I don't understand."

"This." Steve waves a finger between the two of them. "I get it, okay. It's not working – it's never going to work, and I'm tired of trying. So yeah, I'm officially throwing in the towel."

"Wait, Steve, what –?" But Steve's already walking away, heading down the tunnel and towards the exit. Bucky watches him leave with a frown and a tightness in his chest that he can't explain.

Giving up? What did that even mean? The Steve Rogers he'd grown up with – the one he'd just been rediscovering – would never give up on anything. Ever. Up until this moment, Bucky'd been sure Steve hadn't even known the _meaning_ of the phrase.

But then, this thing between them...it's always defied any sort of explanation or any box or label. Nothing about it has _ever_ made sense. And maybe that's what Steve means. Maybe he's just as tired of fighting a losing battle, of trying to figure out where the lines are or how the two of them fit together. Maybe Steve finally wants the same thing Bucky's wanted for the past decade – to erase the stupid mistakes and start over again as just friends.

Which should make Bucky happy, right? He should be thrilled that he's not going to have to constantly check himself or make sure he and Steve aren't alone or to watch what he says or does. He's won. Steve has finally seen reason for once in his life.

So why does Bucky feel like he's lost the only thing that matters?

Sam sticks his head out of the door. "Yo, Buck, everything okay?"

Bucky nods on autopilot, the 'yes' already on his lips, then he stops. No, everything is _not_ okay. He's not _okay_ with any fucking part of this. He can't fucking breathe right now, and that's really not okay in the slightest. He will never be okay in a world where Steve Rogers isn't around – either in person or in his head – to push him to be better. To be more. Bucky's world doesn't make any sense without Steve as a ballast.

"Bucky?" Sam says, concerned. "You still with me?"

"No, I..." Bucky shakes his head. No way he's letting Steve just _give up_. No way. "Hey, can you bring my bag back to the hotel for me?"

"Sure, why?"

"I need to go," Bucky says, and starts jogging towards the exit. "There's something I have to do."

And with every step, the tightness in his chest eases.

***

Bucky doesn't even give himself a moment to think or slow down before he starts banging on the door to Steve's hotel room. He's thought way too much already. He's had ten years to _overthink_ , and he's done.

Steve opens the door, already dressed for bed in track pants and a tank top, and Bucky steps in before he can talk himself out of it, lets the door shut behind them. He frames Steve's face with his hands, leans forward, and the kiss is everything he's dreamed about over the last seventeen endless days – silky and heated and achingly perfectly _perfect._

Then Steve pulls out of his grasp, and swipes his hand across his mouth like he's trying to erase Bucky's taste. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

"I can't let you do it," Bucky blurts out.

Steve rakes a hand over his hair, and frowns. "Buck, it's two in the fucking morning, man, we've got a game in less than twelve hours. Can't it wait?"

"No." Bucky takes a step, then another, and puts both hands on Steve's shoulders. "I can't wait another day or hour or fucking minute, Steve, I..." He looks deep into blue eyes, and the words come tumbling out of him in one big rush. "It wasn't because you told me you loved me on prom night that I ran. You had to know – you _had_ to – how I felt about you."

Steve huffs out an ugly-sounding laugh. "Oh my God, are you really...you came up here to rehash what happened ten years ago? _Really_?"

"Yes, really." He squeezes Steve's arms, wills him to listen. "So shut up and let me say this."

"I can't do this again, Buck. I'm sorry, I don't –"

Bucky ignores the clench of panic in his gut. He has to make this right. He _has_ to. Hell, it's long past time. "It _wasn't_ that I didn't love you, alright," he says, cutting Steve off in mid-word. "Because I did. I do. I loved you so much that I would have done anything for you. I loved you more than baseball, okay, more than my _future_ , and I couldn't – I just couldn't. So, yeah, I ran." It's a soft admission, something he should have said years ago. "I ran and I never stopped. But I'm not running now."

Steve doesn't move. His eyes seem much too large for his face. "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

"Because I'm tired, too. Tired of pretending that I haven't missed you every single day for the last ten years. I'm tired of pretending that I don't want you, that I haven't spent the last two months you've been on the team in a panic because having you so close and not being able to touch you was killing me."

"And the All-Star Game last year?" Steve asks, quiet and hushed in the small space between them. "Because I'd thought...God, I really thought that you wanted...and then you ran again, and..."

Bucky nods, throat moving as he swallows the excuses. Steve deserves the truth. "I have no idea what happened that night. I just...I saw you rounding the bases after your moon shot and it was like I couldn't even breathe I wanted you so bad. And I thought – I'd hoped – that maybe if I got you out of my system, we'd be square and I'd be able to finally move on with my life."

Steve lets out a small, dry laugh. "Well, I guess that explains why you never returned my texts or calls after that night. Did Becky tell you that I went by to see her in the off-season to find out if you were okay?"

"Yeah, and she told me I was an asshole for stringing you along. And I was," Bucky adds. "And I was doing okay until I heard about you and Peggy getting engaged –"

"Wait, hold the fuck up, are you telling me _that's_ why you threw at me in the Boston series? Because you heard a rumor about me and Peggy?"

"I didn't say I was proud of it."

"Jesus, Bucky, you fucking idiot." Steve shakes his head. "Next time just ask me, alright. Yeah, me and Peggy were...I mean, yeah I loved her, I still do, and maybe if I'd never met you... Fuck." 

He runs a hand over his face and sighs. His look is somber and so resigned that Bucky starts to panic all over again. "It's _always_ been you," Steve tells him, but he doesn't look happy with the confession. "Ever since I was old enough to know what a soulmate was, I knew you were it."

"I'm sorry, I don't...I don't know what you want me to say." Bucky aches for both of them, for everything he'd fucked up, everything he cost both of them with his idiocy and his pride and his cowardice.

"I'm fucking sick and tired of you yo-yoing me around. Either we do this or we don't. And I don't care about going public and I don't care about telling the team and I don't care if we never tell another person, but I need to know that you're with me."

"I'm with you," Bucky promises, hoping Steve can hear just how serious he is, how much he wants this. "I want everything we used to talk about as kids – winning pennants and World Series championships and being co-MVPs and playing _together_ for the rest of our careers. I want to know you've got my back every time I take the hill and I want to wake up with you every morning and know that we're a team, no matter what happens on the field. I swear to you, no going back, no flaking out, no regrets. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

There's a long silence and time seems to slow to a crawl while Bucky waits. The prospect of spending the rest of his life without Steve stretches out before him, infinite and scary. A world without Steve's smile and his stubbornness and his touch. A world without the one person who's always known him better than anyone, who's always been the best part of him, the compass by which he'd guided his entire life and career. 

He can't lose this. He _can't_.

He hears a long, drawn-out sigh, and the panic starts to spread throughout his body, paralyzing him – 

And then Steve nods. Just once, but there's no mistaking it. "Okay," he says.

"Okay, meaning...?" Bucky _thinks_ he knows what Steve means, but he's not taking anything for granted, not ever again. 

In answer, Steve smiles – wide and dimpled and affectionate and reminiscent of every good memory Bucky has about his childhood. "It means if you even _try_ to walk out that stupid door, I will find a very creative way of getting you back. And I've had ten years away from you to get in plenty of practice being devious. Is that clear enough for you?"

Bucky chuckles, relief and amusement coursing through him, making him weak at the knees. "I'm not leaving," he says, and finally steps closer. "Not without you."

Steve rests his hands on Bucky's hips, drags him closer still. "Now you're talking my language," he says, and Bucky can taste the future in Steve's kiss.

It tastes just like summertime at the ballpark.

***

***

**(October 6 2014 – Game Three of the NLDS, New York Avengers vs. Los Angeles Dodgers, in Los Angeles)**

  


***

**(October 19 2014 – Game Seven of the NLCS, San Francisco Giants vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, top of the 9th, two on and two out)**

  
"Doc Erskine goes into the wind-up, throws, and that's STRIKE THREE CALLED AND YOUR 2014 AVENGERS ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!!!!!! THE NEW YORK AVENGERS ARE YOUR 2014 NATIONAL LEAGUE CHAMPIONS!!!! Oh my God, listen to this crowd!!!! The entire team's in a dog pile at home plate and there are hugs all around and everyone here is losing their minds.

"Your final score is Giants 3, Avengers 4, with Montgomery Falsworth taking the win, Sergio Romo getting the loss, and a game-winning triple by Clint Barton in the 8th that cleared the bases.

"We'll be right back after these messages for the post-game celebration and to take you down on the field for the trophy presentation and for the MVP presentation, and to preview the World Series between the Avengers and the Kansas City Royals. Two Cinderella teams who have both finally made it to the ball.

"We hope you'll stick around and join us on the Avengers Radio Network, home of your 2014 National League Champions."

  


**Author's Note:**

> Mad props and love to the following people:
> 
> Gigi, who acted as my second set of eyes on the baseball technicalities.
> 
> G., who did the best and fastest last minute GSaP known to man. Any remaining mistakes are on me.
> 
> Ignipes, who provided me with an amazingly insightful beta and even more sound advice.
> 
> Melle, who acted as both cheerleader and sounding board, and provided some great comments that really helped push the story in the right direction.
> 
> Jo, who provided the World Series New York Post mock-up at the very last minute.
> 
> And finally, to everyone out there who counts down the days until Spring Training, this one is for you.
> 
>    
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for 'Going Yard'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626484) by [sullacat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/pseuds/sullacat)




End file.
